Pride and Prejudice, or First Impressions
by Cryptic Nymph
Summary: Can you really trust your first impressions? An adaptation of the simply wonderful novel, by the genius Jane Austen.
1. Chapter 1

**Hello! It is with great anxiety that I reveal to you the first chapter of my Austen adaptation. And I'm terrified, quite frankly, because Jane Austen is a god, and I am merely a girl from Wolverhampton with an unhealthy interest in Sherlock. I love her books more than most people, let that much be known. I really am so sorry if I murder this. If I murder this I shall stop, I promise.**

**This whole thing came about from the realisation that Sherlock is a very Mr Darcy figure. Then the idea sort of grew in my head and, well, this happened. I hope you like it. What makes it even scarier is that it's a COLLEGE FIC. Oh yeah. A college fic. Scary, huh? It gives me the shivers. I really really really hope this is OK.**

**Anyway, just to clarify on the age thing- Obviously, they're all random ages, so I kind of planned it out to work like this:**

**Third Year Students- Lestrade, Mycroft, Anthea.**

**Second Year Students- Sherlock, John, Anderson, Sally, Molly.**

**First Year Students- Harry, Mary, Kitty.**

**I kind of just gave away the characters, didn't I? No matter. Have a fic. Just a short one first of all, I'm testing it out. **

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><p>It is a truth universally acknowledged that a student in possession of some form of drugs, must be in want of <em>more<em> drugs. However, when such stimulants are unavailable, they are forced to make do with other means. Most, in fact, turn to something that can often be far more intoxicating than narcotics- gossip. That is what John found himself engaged in, early one autumn afternoon.

John rented a flat in a converted Victorian house- as a student, he needed a flatmate, which he found in his childhood friend Greg Lestrade. They'd grown up in the same little town, gone to the same school and John had followed him to the same university one year later. Greg was a sensible guy in general, but with a desire to see the good in others that often wasn't there. He wouldn't have exchanged this good nature for the world, however; he was an ocean of calm in the building they lived in.

It was separated into three flats, one for each floor- Greg and John lived on the first floor, with John's sister Harry living on the floor above. Harry, whilst intelligent, was headstrong and foolish, and more interested in university as a way to meet new people than as a means for education. She had befriended the equally ridiculous girls who lived on the ground floor- Kitty, who was obsessed with material goods and following Harry around like a lost puppy, and Mary, who was busy worrying about the bands she "discovered" becoming mainstream and therefore sell outs to the mass market. John wasn't on particularly good terms with the three- Harry drank too much, this was clear, and was a bad example to the two women. He loved his sister, but John was often exasperated by her behaviour. The only other sensible person around was Harry's flatmate Molly, a kind girl who John had befriended quickly.

It was in their flat that he was sat, absentmindedly flicking through the new copy of Empire magazine on her coffee table. He heard the door to the flat slam shut with a clunk.

"Did you hear about Mrs Hudson's new tenants?"

Mrs Hudson was their landlady- a woman who owned several buildings around London, which she rented out for profit. No-one quite knew how she could afford this, though it was suspected that her husband's life insurance had set her up comfortably. No-one knew quite why her husband had been sentenced to death in Florida either, but no-one wanted to contemplate it.

John sighed and placed it down on the table. "What about them?"

Harry dropped the shopping bags she was holding onto the kitchen side. "A Mycroft Holmes, his two siblings and a friend of theirs. They rented the whole building- young, rich and probably available."

John took a sip of his tea. "Which one of them?"

"Does it matter?"

John laughed in spite of himself. "Harry, you are unbelievable."

Harry giggled. "You say that like it's a bad thing. Mrs Hudson was telling me about them in the corridor- apparently, they moved from Cambridge. 'Family issues'."

"And they could still go here? They must be pretty intelligent."

"Or pretty rich," Harry said with delight. She sat down on the sofa beside him. "Either way, that's good for me. I wonder if I can casually introduce myself…"

"I've already seen them," John said quietly.

Harry gaped. "You have? Why didn't you say?"

"You didn't ask."

"Well?" She grabbed his shoulders and shook him. "What were they like?"

"They were…" John searched for a word. "Intimidating. I only saw a man and a woman. To be fair, I had a chat to one of them. Mycroft, I think his name was. He was… pleasant."

Harry let out a tiny squeal of delight. "Introduce me!"

John rolled his eyes. "No."

"Why?" she whined.

"Because you'll make an arse out of yourself. Besides, I'm sure you'll see them around. Who knows? Maybe Mrs Hudson will be after one of them, get herself a toy boy."

Harry snorted, and John grinned. There was a sudden knock at the door. Harry sighed and got up, opening the door to a frantic Kitty and Mary.

"Downstairs!" Kitty chanted in a stage whisper. "Downstairs, now! The new people!"

"Oh for God's sake," John moaned. "You're acting like children." He followed them out onto the staircase, where the three women crouched and looked down through the banisters.

Greg left their flat on the floor below and stared incredulously up at them. "What's happening?"

John shrugged, exasperated, but they both continued to stare down at the young man deep in conversation with Mrs Hudson. Behind him, he could vaguely make out another man, thinner and slightly shorter, though his face was obscured.

"So you're sure that this is alright?" the taller man said smoothly, his deep voice moving Mary to silent hysterics.

"Quite alright, dear," she replied. "Your rent should be fine a little late. Is that all?"

"Um," he said, placing a hand on his head. "We're very new around here… I don't suppose that you happen to know some other students that we could ask for… I can't quite think of the word. Advice?"

Mrs Hudson smiled. "Of course. Practically all of my tenants are students; in fact, I think some of them are in. I'll just have a look."

Harry sent John a panicked look. Greg hissed a quick "Inside!", and they all rushed quickly into Harry's flat.

"Everyone look nonchalant!" Mary cried, as they arranged themselves in 'natural' positions around the flat.

Kitty answered the knock at the door. "Hello Mrs Hudson," she said sweetly. "And who's this?"

Mrs Hudson laughed and walked into the flat. "This is Mycroft, and his brother Sherlock, they live in some of my other flats. They've just moved down here."

"Yes. John, isn't it?" Mycroft said, turning towards him. He was a tall man with dark hair, neatly parted. Unusually, he wore a suit, even now, but he was not as professional and formal in his speech. John nodded in reply. "I was wondering if you could give us any advice as to where to go?" he continued.

"I, er," Greg began. "We could always take you out with us one night? As, you know, a welcome. We could introduce you to some new people."

The expression on Mycroft's face changed at the sight of Greg. He blushed a faint shade of red, so faint you could barely see it. "That would be excellent. Thank you." He extended a hand. "Mycroft."

Greg took it. "Greg." The handshake lingered for longer than was strictly necessary. John attempted to catch Greg's eye, but was unable to.

Mycroft seemed to snap out of his confusion. "And, er, this is my brother, Sherlock."

Sherlock uttered a brief "hello" to them all, but did not return any of their smiles. He too was dark haired, and just a fraction shorter than his brother. His frame was highlighted by his tailored clothes; a suit with no tie and an open collar, exposing his pale neck. But his eyes that struck John upon seeing them. His eyes were as cold as his personality, the silvery blue irises giving John a piercing stare for the briefest of moments.

"Well," Mycroft said, his smooth tone resuming. "That would be wonderful. What night would be good with you?"

"Tonight," Greg said quickly. Mary and Kitty could barely suppress their laughter. Greg ignored them. "We're going out tonight. We could come get you guys from your place at about 8?"

Mycroft smiled. "I would like that. Well, we'll see you then."

Greg smiled. Neither seemed quite what to do with themselves. Sherlock cut into the awkward silence. "Mycroft," he said, his voice even deeper than his brother's. "We have to go." He turned to them briefly. "Thank you."

Mycroft gave them a last smile before leaving. As soon as the door was shut, the group burst into rushed conversation.

"I'll give you something, Greg," Harry said, giving him a congratulatory pat on the back. "You got in there fast."

"Shut up," he muttered. "I didn't look too keen, did I John?"

John laughed. "God no. You keep worrying about looking obvious, but really you're too subtle mate. You like him then?"

"Yeah," Greg sighed. "He was so… classy. So unlike other men I've… Well. It probably won't come to anything."

"Don't be so negative," John replied. "Didn't you see his face? His jaw hit the floor. Believe me, he wants it to come to something."

Kitty sat in the chair opposite them. "I wish you hadn't invited them out _tonight_, Greg. I would have bought something to wear…"

"Do shut up, Kitty," Harry said casually. "You're not after that Mycroft, Greg is. Unless you fancy having a stab at the brother…"

"Ugh!" said Mary. "God, no! Who would? How cold, how unfeeling!"

Harry nodded knowingly. "I mean, he's attractive, certainly. But if looks could kill, then he'd have taken us all out. The poor little posh boy."

John said nothing, but simply thought for a few moments. Thought about those cold, unfeeling eyes.

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><p><strong>This is agonizing. I know it's a little dull at the moment, but I swear it will get good. Please give it a chance!<strong>


	2. Chapter 2

**Hi! Second chapter coming at you- just a brief note. I've tried to think what Sherlock and Mycroft would be like when they were younger, but it's rather hard. It's like they were born in their thirties and forties respectively XD I've kind of made Mycroft jokier and more easy going, which I know is a bit OOC, but I figured he would have been more relaxed in his youth. ****He's also trying to keep close to Sherlock and rationalize his antisocial behaviour more, because he hasn't been worn down by as many years of insults. Sherlock's turned out quite arrogant and constantly irritated, but that's not a massive change XD**

**Warnings: Sherlock meanness, and Molly swears a few times at the end. **

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><p>John stuck on a checked shirt and a pair of jeans- it wasn't like they were going anywhere particularly special. The Meryton Bar was nice, certainly, but they'd been going there for years- they didn't need to impress.<p>

_He_ didn't anyway. Greg was busy removing the entire contents of his (rather large) wardrobe, and lamenting that he had nothing to wear. The poor man was a wreck of nerves.

"Greg," John called from the other side of the door. "We've got to go. Tell me you're ready, please?"

Greg wrenched open the door almost immediately, a pained look on his face. His hair was ruffled, and his face was slightly red. "Do I look OK?"

John looked down at the T-Shirt-with-shirt-over-the-top combination and smiled. "Yes, you look fine."

"Fine?" said Greg, raising his eyebrows. "That's adequate, acceptable, I don't want-"

"You look great, Greg," John interjected, dragging him by the collar to the door. "Now come on."

They met Molly in the corridor, looking particularly happy. "So," she said eagerly. "What are they like?"

John sighed. "Honestly. You're as bad as Harry and her little coven."

"Shut up," she hissed. "They'll hear you. Besides, I am _not_ as bad as them. I'm just curious is all."

"I'll tell you on the way- that is, if Greg doesn't throw up from nerves," he teased.

Greg glared at him playfully. "Shut up. I'll be fine."

The taxi journey to Baker Street was frenzied and tense, with each wondering what kind of place Mrs Hudson owned. They knew she was rich, certainly, but upon seeing the home they couldn't help but gawp a little. Mrs Hudson opened the door to them when they knocked. "Hello pet!" she said to a pale faced Lestrade. "You're looking a bit peaky. Everything alright?"

"Fine thank you, Mrs Hudson," he replied politely. She laughed fondly. He always was a hit with the older women. "Could you direct us to Mycroft's flat?"

She smiled and led them to a basement flat, the name 221C written on the door. "I sorted out the damp problem," she said happily. "It's much nicer now."

Harry knocked brashly at the door, and it was answered almost immediately by a dark haired woman, almost the same height as John. He tried not to let this bother him. Her hair was curled, and she didn't look up from her BlackBerry as she spoke. "You're the guys showing us around?"

Harry smiled. "Yes, yes we are," she said, her voice all too sweet. She batted her eyelashes. John rolled his eyes.

"And you are?"

She finally made eye contact with him. "Anthea. Do come in."

The flat was expensive, far more expensive than the regular student could afford. John thought they'd done well in finding a good flat, but _this_ was something else entirely. How Mrs Hudson made a profit, he had no idea.

Mycroft came out of one of the rooms, smiling broadly. He was still wearing a suit, but his top button was undone and his tie was slightly askew. "Hello," he said, more directed at Greg than anyone else. "My brother will be with us in a few moments, as soon as he can drag himself out of his cave. He's so very vain."

There was a smattering of laughter. "Um," Kitty said quietly. "I heard Mrs Hudson say you had a sister. Is she coming? We'd love to meet her."

Mycroft's smile faltered slightly. "She's only sixteen, I'm afraid, and looks younger, so I doubt she'd get in. She's actually gone over to a mate's anyway."

"That's a shame," Harry sighed. They stood in an awkward silence, unspoken words of small talk circling in their minds, until they were interrupted by the arrival of Sherlock. He wore a fitted blue shirt, similar to the white shirt he had been wearing earlier. Clearly, the Holmes boys didn't do casual very well. The one relaxed aspect of his clothing was a pair of fitted jeans, which John suspected were Levis. "Hello," he said coldly, seemingly irritated at being taken out at all.

"Shall we go?"

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><p>Mycroft returned with another tray of drinks- his round, he insisted- and sat down opposite Greg. They were all rather segregated, with Mycroft, Anthea and Sherlock sat across the table from the others.<p>

"So, do you come here often?" Mycroft asked earnestly.

"Oh, yeah," said Mary. "If you like new and underground music, you come here."

He glanced across at the group playing. "They're certainly very talented."

"Not really my thing," said Anthea, still texting, "A bit too shouty."

Harry's smile faltered. "They've got very deep lyrics, if you listen."

Anthea cocked her head to one side, the corner of her mouth twitching quickly. "Yes, I'm sure they do. I just like my music a little more… refined."

Harry gripped her drink a little tighter. A man with a beard approached their table. "Sherlock, is that you?"

Sherlock smiled coldly, "Angelo. I didn't realise you owned this establishment."

There was something in his air that John disliked. That smug superiority, that definite awareness of his own intelligence. He couldn't warm to Sherlock Holmes. Angelo grinned and shook Sherlock's hand. "Anything you want, _whatever_ you want, free. On the house for you, and for your mates."

"Do you want another drink?" Sherlock asked the group at large.

"We're not his mates," John muttered quietly, so only Greg could hear. Greg kicked him swiftly in the leg. Hard.

"This man got me off a murder charge!" Angelo said proudly. Kitty choked on the vodka and coke she was drinking.

Sherlock smiled. "This is Angelo. Three years ago, I successfully proved to Scotland Yard at the time of a particularly vicious triple murder that Angelo was in a completely different part of town, housebreaking."

"He cleared my name!" Angelo replied happily.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "I cleared it a bit. I'll have another wine, does anyone else want anything?"

There was a murmuring of drinks orders. "Right, OK. But for this man," Angelo gestured at Sherlock. "I'd have gone to prison."

"You did go to prison," Sherlock pointed out plainly.

"I'll get your drinks," Angelo smiled and left.

Mary blinked. "Well you learn something new every day."

"I'll say!" said Harry. "Bloody hell Sherlock, that would have made you- seventeen?"

"Sixteen, actually," he said with a smirk. "I'm not yet twenty."

John rolled his eyes, and Sherlock frowned. "That reminds me," Mycroft added. "It's my twenty first next week- I was going to throw a party. Would you guys come?"

"Sure," said Greg, with a grin that made Mycroft's eyes light up ever so briefly. "We'd love to come."

Mycroft tented his fingers. "I might go and look at the band a bit closer. Anyone want to come?"

Anthea looked as if she was about to speak, but Mycroft shot her a don't-you-even-dare look. "I'll go," Greg replied.

The two walked off together, chatting amiably, and Harry giggled. "Well, if those two aren't getting off with each other by the end of the night, I'll be highly surprised."

John laughed. "They're cute together."

Sherlock wrinkled his nose up a little. "As 'cute' as they may be," he replied, a hint of disgust in his voice, "Mycroft's not looking for a relationship right now. Or ever, really."

John drank some of his beer. "It doesn't look like that to me," he replied, nodding at the couple. They were smiling at each other, watching the group perform, and Mycroft had his hand on Greg's shoulder, seemingly for balance. Seemingly. Sherlock said nothing, but sipped his wine.

"So," Kitty said, in an effort to make conversation. "You solved a crime, wow!"

Sherlock smirked again. "Well, yes. It's kind of what I do on the side."

"Is it difficult?" Harry asked.

"What, for me or for you?" Sherlock grinned like a cat. "I'm joking, of course. It depends entirely on the case- some can be depressingly dull, but some can be a challenge."

"That's interesting," said Molly, intrigued. "So, what kind of thing do you usually deal with? Theft? Murder?"

"A mixture,"

"How do you do it?" said Mary, fascinated. "You know, how do you understand the clues and everything?"

Sherlock entwined his hand in his tangled mass of hair. "I deduce, I observe, I eliminate. People leave traces of their past acts on their clothes, in their behaviour… It's actually very simple."

"So, you can look at a person, and tell them what they're like, instantly?" John asked.

"Well, yes," he said quietly. "Perhaps not _instantly_, but pretty quickly, yes."

John grinned. "So do me."

Sherlock's eyes widened by the tiniest fraction. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah. I can take it."

Sherlock leaned forwards and stared at John for a few moments. He had to admit, Sherlock had a most penetrating look; he felt pinned to his seat. Finally, he reclined.

"You're a medical student, in training to become a doctor, but there's a meticulous efficiency to you that suggests you have been part of some sort of disciplinary training, most likely an army cadet programme. You enjoyed it, but you preferred to help others. You're of a playful disposition, but know your limits- you enjoy parties and engaging in social activities, but disapprove of binge drinking and its dangers, hence your strained relationship with… certain family members." Sherlock's lip curled around the last few words with infinite disdain, Anthea barely suppressing a laugh. Harry looked as if she was about to throw something.

"… That's," John began, "That's brilliant."

For the first time, Sherlock looked a little unnerved. "I'm going to go look at the band," Harry said flatly. "Come on," she hissed at Mary and Kitty, who immediately followed her down.

"You know," Anthea said, with more than a little amusement in her voice. "I might join them."

She left, leaving Sherlock with a reproachful Molly and a bewildered John. "That was insane," said John finally. "How could you possibly- How did you…"

"I simply observed," he said quietly. "Your haircut and the way you hold yourself say military. Your clothes, whilst relaxed and informal, still hide an inner rigidity, like your own personality. For example, your checked shirt. Casual, but regimental. That shows a restrained and disciplined character. You have the imprint of a word on the side of your hand, "tricuspid", where you have been leaning and the ink has stained you, therefore you have been reading a book on the heart. Only a Biology or a medical student would have been reading such a book, but the text is from an old book, hence why it came off on your hand. I know as a Chemistry student that the various Science departments of the university have recently been given new equipment, including new textbooks, therefore you are a medical student. Clearly, you have either chosen medicine over the military, or you intend to balance the two and become an army medic. You have tired eyes, eyes too old for your face, which suggests that you don't get a lot of sleep. You are comfortable with this place, which implies that you are a regular here, as well as your verbal confirmation earlier. Inference- you spend a lot of time here, but you clearly do not drink excessively and show none of the signs of an alcoholic, so you do it for the social situation and atmosphere. As a medical student, you know the dangers of binge drinking, and you find it hard to relate to your sister and her drinking problem. Your body language showed your dislike of her drunken behaviour, particularly after her fifth drink."

John was caught between anger and admiration. "You continue to surprise me, Sherlock. I have to admit, that was… amazing."

"You think so?" Sherlock replied, openly shocked.

"Of course it was. Extraordinary. Quite extraordinary."

"That's not what people normally say."

"What do people normally say?"

"Piss off."

John suppressed a chuckle, but narrowed his eyes. "But I love my sister, OK? No matter what she does." He slammed back his drink. "I'm joining the others. You guys coming?"

Molly nodded, but Sherlock put up a hand. "I don't dance."

John was in no mood to persuade him. He nodded curtly at him before approaching the rest of the group, still attempting to figure out what just happened.

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><p>John was all too aware of how a night could turn bad. He'd had it drummed into him for years in pointless "Citizenship" lessons, the same warnings about the dangers of drinking too much and ending up dead in an alley somewhere. Well, Sherlock had certainly reminded him of <em>that<em>. But what struck him the next day was how they never taught you how quickly emotional ties could be ruined, and how dangerous that could be. Just as he thought he was building up- well, not any degree of _affection_ towards Sherlock, but a healthy respect and admiration of his intelligence, he was proved wrong.

John walked over to the bar, finally managing to enjoy himself watching the group perform with the others, and ordered another beer. He laughed to himself, knowing that he wouldn't have a lecture until Tuesday, and that he didn't have to go home early for once.

At the corner of the bar, on the opposite side of the thick pillar John was stood next to, he saw a man in a dark blue shirt approach the bartender. _Oh God_, he thought to himself. _Sherlock bloody Holmes_. He was fairly sure that Sherlock couldn't see him. _If I wait here casually for long enough, maybe he'll go and I can get back to the crowd without making any small talk?_

Mycroft soon joined his brother, patting him on the back. Sherlock shrugged him off violently.

"Oh, come on, brother," said Mycroft, exasperated. "Come and watch the band. It's fun."

Sherlock laughed in disdain. "No, thanks. If I wanted to get hot and heavy with random strangers, I'd get pissed and expose myself. _That_ would be marginally less awkward than the hell that has been this evening."

Mycroft rolled his eyes. "You might like these people if you tried. They're a lot of fun, actually."

"Well, you _would_ think that, what with you trying to get off with that Greg bloke."

Mycroft glared. "I am not trying to 'get off' with anyone. Greg just happens to be a nice person to be around."

Sherlock threw back a shot. "Yeah, whatever."

"Come and dance!" Mycroft implored.

"How many times do I have to tell people- I don't dance, unless I'm trying to find someone to go home with. And even then, only as a last resort, and I certainly can't find a person in this room that I would be willing to screw."

Mycroft frowned. "There are some attractive men in here, Sherlock, if only you would look at them."

"Ha! Like who? I admit, that Greg guy is pretty hot, but other than that, there are none."

Mycroft smiled. "He _is_ attractive. And funny. And kind. But that's not the point- I saw you looking at John earlier…"

John nearly dropped his drink in surprise, though his shock would soon be proven unfounded. "John? Seriously? I never knew you were into that kind of thing, Mycroft. I suppose he's _conventionally _attractive, in a sort of boy next door kind of way, but he's not my type. A bit too pedestrian for my tastes. Merely average, adequate, _tolerable_."

John felt anger swell inside him, outrage and disgust threatening to make him do something stupid and rash. "That's uncalled for," Mycroft said in his defence. "That's cruel, Sherlock."

"You've never cared before," Sherlock sneered.

"You're pissed, you don't know what you're saying," Mycroft's attempts to rationalize his brother's behaviour were in vain.

"Like hell I am. I'm sober enough to see Greg's making 'come to bed' eyes at you from across the room. Get back to him, will you?"

Mycroft said nothing and returned to the crowd, just as Molly was leaving it. She gave him a cheery smile, which he returned, and proceeded to where John was stood.

"Hey John!" John made frantic shushing motions at her, but she didn't notice. "Enjoying yourself?"

Sherlock peered around the edge of the pillar which had obscured John from view, raising his eyebrows. John felt a flush creep up the back of his neck. It was wrong that he was the embarrassed party in this- Sherlock should have been the one feeling mortified.

"Ah, John," said Sherlock. "May I ask, how long have you been standing there?"

"Long enough," John said, his voice low. "Excuse us." He dragged Molly by the arm over into a quieter corner of the bar. "Oh Christ, that was awful," he moaned to her.

"Why, what happened?" He recounted the events he had just witnessed, and steadily her indignation grew and grew until she was no longer able to keep it in. "That utter _wanker_!" she cried. "What a fucking prick."

John simply nodded, realising that his first impression of Sherlock may have been accurate. He was not to be admired for his intelligence- he was arrogant, conceited and all too proud. John was certain now that he detested Sherlock Holmes.

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><p><strong>I feel bad for making Anthea so rude in this, I rather like the character herself. Ah well, c'est la vie.<strong>


	3. Chapter 3

**I don't really like this chapter, I don't know why. It just feels a bit stilted to me. Anyway, I'll let you be the judges : )**

Once the band had finished, they decided that it would be sensible to go back home soon. Greg, Mary and Anthea had lectures in the morning, and to be honest, John was glad to escape the group. He was still humiliated from what he had overheard Sherlock say about him, and more than a little self conscious. _Tolerable_… To be merely tolerable? Well, he never expected high praise from Sherlock, but somehow being called _tolerable_ was worse than if he had called him ugly. He would have gotten over that. It was the smug sense of superiority he could not stand.

They separated outside the building, getting separate taxis. John reached the door and waited patiently for Greg to arrive. He was chatting to Mycroft outside their taxi, with expression on his face that could only be described as _smitten_. John saw Sherlock get into the taxi with Anthea only briefly, and it occurred to him what a good match they'd make. Beautiful, intelligent and arrogant.

John paused. _Beautiful_? Quite why he had thought it, he had no idea. Admittedly, Anthea was clearly a very attractive woman, but Sherlock… unconventionally so. He wasn't the usual figure of an attractive man- his high, aristocratic cheekbones, pale skin and piercing stare were unusual to say the least, but it made him seem quite Byronic.

John mentally slapped himself. _Remember what he said about you? He's a bastard, pure and simple, it doesn't matter if he's a hot one._ Greg slowly wandered back from where Mycroft stood, a goofy smile on his face.

"It went well, then?" John laughed.

"I got his number!" Greg whispered.

"Greg, there are fuck all people around. You don't need to whisper."

Greg watched their taxi drive off. "Come on, let's get in, I'm freezing."

They clambered into the cramped taxi. "Fucking hell, John," Harry swore loudly. "You're sat on my hand."

"Sorry," he said, and released her briefly. "I'm heavier than I look."

"You don't say," she muttered. "Well, er, it was a good night, overall."

"Yeah…" said Greg dreamily, not really concentrating.

Harry rolled her eyes as the others laughed. "He liked you a lot," she said matter of fact-ly. "He couldn't take his eyes off you."

"Really?" Greg said eagerly, snapping out of his stupor. "You're not just saying that?"

"Why would I just say that?" she replied. "I wouldn't say it unless it was true. But that bitch Anthea! I could swing for her, I really could."

"You weren't too bothered earlier when you were batting your eyelashes like nobody's business," said Molly plainly.

Harry frowned. "Well, that was before I found out what a cow she was. So snobby, and rude! To think I was going to let her sleep with me."

"Oh, you were going to _let_ her!" Molly laughed. "What a sacrifice that would have been for you."

"She clearly fancied me," Harry protested. She bent close to John's ear and whispered, "unlike Molly. Who would fancy her?"

John kicked her very hard in the leg. In his opinion, Molly was far more beautiful than his sister, in a less obvious way. Harry plastered her face in too much makeup, whilst Molly remained natural and wore very little. So Harry was a little thinner and a little taller than her, what did that matter? He was sick of the way people spoke about Molly, like she was pathetic and destined to remain single for the rest of her life, particularly when his sister said it.

He shot her a glower worthy of Sherlock Holmes- _don't think about him don't think about him don't think about him_- and made quiet small talk for the rest of the journey.

Once they reached the house, he said goodnight to Kitty, Mary, Harry and Molly, and he and Greg entered their flat. Greg collapsed down on the sofa, chortling to himself.

"So Mycroft seems nice," he said, making himself a cup of tea.

"Jesus, John, he's… He's everything a man should be. He's kind, he's sensible, he's fun…"

"He's not bad on the eye, either," John noted, making Greg blush. "That's always a bonus."

"He spent a lot of the evening with me, it was- well, it was rather flattering. I mean, he's so… And I'm so…"

John chuckled. "You might be surprised by this, but I'm not. You're great, and if my first impression is correct, so is he. You've dated some real twats in your time, Greg, I'm glad you're finally learning to pick your men properly."

"John!" he said, exasperated.

John rolled his eyes, but smirked widely. "Oh come on, you never see the faults in anyone. You kept dating Howard the "I Win" Guy for six months because you thought he had a good soul. And he was a prick."

Greg winced at the memory. "OK, he wasn't the best example…"

"You'd never say a bad word to anyone!" said John, stirring his tea.

"I always speak my mind," Greg protested.

"_That's_ what worries me! You genuinely think all these people are wonderful," John passed Greg a mug. "You're so sensible but so _not_ sensible. You even like bloody Anthea!"

"Anthea's alright once you get to know her," Greg took a sip of his tea. "If you talk to her properly, she's actually really nice…"

John frowned, but he said no more. He didn't want to offend Greg, and God knows he was pushing it already. Instead of the bashful awkwardness that you would expect to see in someone who was attempting to mix with people they had never met before, Anthea seemed to not want to mix at all. It was clear that she firmly believed herself to be superior in every way to their group, and perhaps she was. She was beautiful, strong willed and intelligent, but thought too much of herself and too little of others.

Despite the differences in Mycroft's and Sherlock's personalities- Mycroft's earnestness when it came to John balanced out his brother's cold disdain- he could tell that there was a strong bond between the brothers. Whether Sherlock would admit it or not. There was a mutual respect there that Sherlock certainly didn't have for anyone else he had yet met.

John got the feeling that both men were awkward in the company of others, but whilst Mycroft knew how to integrate himself within a group, Sherlock did not know how to behave in such a situation. Either that, or was deciding to ignore social rules for his own amusement. Whilst everyone liked Mycroft, there was unanimous dislike of Sherlock.

"Well," he said eventually. "I've got to get to bed. You getting up early for your lecture tomorrow?"

"Shit," said Greg. "Yeah. I'll see you tomorrow night, OK?"

"OK. Goodnight," John replied, and shut the door to his bedroom. It was small, but it was organised with such a military precision- Sherlock had been right about his cadet training- that it looked larger. He kicked off his shoes and quickly changed into a pair of stripy pyjama bottoms, before collapsing onto his bed. He was truly exhausted, and fell asleep before he hit the pillow.

John awoke late the next morning to the smell of eggs wafting through the apartment. He was struck at that moment by two realisations- that someone other than Greg must have been making breakfast, and that he was phenomenally hungry. John dragged himself out of bed, the smell guiding him to the kitchen, where he found Molly casually cooking herself an omelette.

"I gave you that spare key for emergencies," John grumbled, pulling himself onto a seat at the breakfast bar.

"This was an emergency. I was hungry and Harry forgot to do the shopping. Again. I made you one too." She passed him a plate, which he grabbed with both hands and began to ravenously eat the omelette. Molly was a very good cook.

"Sorry about her," he said between mouthfuls. "I know she's hard work, and that she's a bit full on, but she means well. It's not even been a month of her life at university yet. I can't believe she's still so childish, though…"

Molly dismissed it with a wave of her hand. "It's not a problem, really. She's nice, when she's not in a bad mood."

"If you say so. Did you invite Mycroft to the party tonight?" John asked her.

"'Party' implies that many people are coming. It's a _dinner_ party, you know I prefer intimate evenings to massive parties. But to answer your question, yes, I did. Though God knows how I'm going to get nine people into my tiny apartment, I have no idea."

John frowned. "Nine? But that's-" His face fell as he realised who else was coming. Molly looked sheepish. "Sherlock and Anthea? Really? But I thought you hated them!"

"Oh, I know," Molly whined. "But Mycroft was coming, and I thought it would be rude not to… I'm sorry John, I know he was horrible to you…"

John smiled. "Don't worry. It doesn't bother me, it really doesn't."

She slammed her empty plate into the sink. "'Tolerable'! How dare he!"

John laughed. "Oh, my heart bleeds. I couldn't live without the approval of Sherlock 'stick up his arse' Holmes."

Molly giggled. "Well, I imagine being liked by him would be less of a blessing than a curse. He's so unpleasant… It was like he was angry at us for even _trying_ to make polite conversation!"

"Anthea said that he doesn't talk to people he doesn't know well already," John replied, passing his own plate to Molly to be put in the sink. "God knows how he's ever made friends with anyone."

"I can't imagine him as the friends type, can you? But maybe I'm biased, I don't know. He was so rude to you, after all, and he's so arrogant…"

"He has a reason to be," John pointed out. "He's attractive, rich and intelligent. I don't think I would have minded so much if _I_ wasn't so arrogant myself."

Molly tutted. "Nonsense. Now get dressed, will you? We've got to be at the lecture by five to twelve."

"Shit." John glanced at the time and hurriedly ran to his room. He shoved his clothes on hurriedly, grabbing his satchel full of books and quickly leaving the flat with Molly.

Molly stirred the soup. "Is this OK?" she said, proffering a spoon at him.

John took a sip. "No. It's vile, ghastly stuff." She looked momentarily shocked before John grinned, at which point Molly shoved him playfully. There was a knock at the door.

"Oh Christ," said a weak voice, and Greg stood up abruptly- previously, he had been crouched with his back against the wall in the foetal position. Greg wasn't good with nerves.

"It'll be fine," John reassured him, and went to answer the door. Mycroft, Anthea and Sherlock stood at the door, each smiling but only one genuinely.

Mycroft brandished a bottle of wine at him. "Hello John, nice to see you."

"Nice to see you guys too," John replied, smiling brightly at them all, even Sherlock. John was delighted to see that Sherlock looked faintly uncomfortable by the gesture.

They all sat down, John placed between Harry and Molly and opposite Sherlock. Greg and Mycroft were opposite each other too, and they were dreamily making idle conversation. No-one really wanted to interrupt them.

"John," said Molly. "Give me a hand serving this soup, will you?"

John readily got up and moved to the kitchen, but as the others fell into conversations and John attempted to pick up a bowl, Molly stopped him.

"Mycroft's keen on Greg," she murmured. "But I think Greg's being too subtle."

This thought had occurred to John. He glanced around cautiously to check Greg could not hear him. "I don't think so. He's just shy, you know that."

Molly grimaced. "But Mycroft doesn't. He doesn't know him like we do, he'll think that Greg's just not interested."

John chuckled. "He's only known Mycroft, what, two days? Stop rushing into things, they've not even been on a date yet. Let them get to know each other."

"There'll be time for that once they're dating," Molly assured him. "You can't tell what a person's _really_ like until you start dating them. When you stop trying to impress each other, you see their true personality. It's all chance," she finished bitterly.

John paused. Molly had been very unlucky in love- if she ended up with another closeted gay bloke, it might just finish her off. She'd pack herself off and become a nun. "Come on, the soup's getting cold."

Much alcohol was consumed with the meal that Molly cooked, and for once they all agreed on how delicious it had been. Even Anthea looked impressed, and said, "Do you have many other hidden talents, Molly? Singing? Dancing? Playing the lute?"

Molly laughed, "Oh lord no. Tone deaf, that's me. It's John here that has the musical ability." Her eyes flashed with something liked mischief. "John, why don't you play us something?" She pointed at the acoustic guitar in the corner of the room.

Mycroft smiled. "That would be wonderful, John."

Anthea drank some wine, and she was more than a little tipsy. They all were, in fact. A positive aspect of this was that she seemed much friendlier to the rest of them. "Oh, so you play the guitar? Are you in a band?"

"Oh, no," John replied. "I've never been cool enough to be in a band." He turned to Sherlock and smiled coldly. "Do you play anything, Sherlock?"

"Yes," Anthea interrupted. "He plays the piano and the violin uncommonly well, don't you Sherlock?"

All eyes were fixed on the thin pale gentleman opposite John. "I dabble," he said in an offhand fashion. He was depressingly sober. "It's Georgiana that is the true talent in our family. If there's an instrument made she can't play, I'll be surprised." There was a hint of pride in Sherlock's voice, and of brotherly affection. Perhaps he wasn't so robotic after all?

"Go on, John," Molly urged. The rest of the group- save Sherlock, of course- nodded drunkenly and eagerly at him.

"Fine," he relented, and walked over to the guitar where it stood. He ran his fingers over the strings briefly, allowing the sound to reverberate around the room. He thought for a moment, before deciding on a song.

"_You're lying, I know I can see on your face, it's a shame that you're crying, but I don't see tears not a trace, it'__s a waste. Baby, you'll notice I follow you closely behind…"_

He looked directly at Sherlock, whose expression read as some point between bemused and discomfort. He continued the song until it concluded, and there was a smattering of applause. He smiled shyly and sat back down in his seat.

"That was good," Sherlock blurted out abruptly.

John looked at him, a little confused. "Er, well, thank you," he said lamely, not sure quite how to react to praise from Sherlock Holmes.

"No problem," said Sherlock coolly, still fixing him with that stare.

"You intrigue us, Sherlock Holmes," said Harry drunkenly. John gave her a glare, but she did not stop. "Why wouldn't you dance last night? Everyone else was."

"I dance only when forced to," he replied. "Or there is some other motivation." Again, he would not take his eyes off John, pinning him to his seat with that deadly stare.

Harry smiled. "Weren't we motivation for you, Sherlock? That's a shame, I'm sure you dance well."  
>Sherlock laughed. "Of course I do, I dance incredibly well. Every savage can dance."<p>

The group chuckled a little nervously. "Well, I imagine that you're better than I am," Molly replied. "I can't dance to save my life!"

"Of course you can," John reassured her.

"Your eyes," Sherlock said abruptly to John.

John looked confused. "What about them?"

"They're heterochromatic. Centrally heterochromatic, to be precise. Blue, with brown around the pupils."

John felt immediately self concious. "Yes. Odd, I know."

"Not odd, unique," said Sherlock quietly. "Different."

They retreated to some safer, more superficial talk.

***  
>They stayed until around midnight, at which point Mycroft lamented that they had to go home. Anthea was very close to passing out, now unable to speak from intoxication and only able to giggle. Mycroft said goodbye to them all together, before giving Greg a particularly long and lingering look and steadying Anthea's stumbling walk to the taxi that awaited them. Sherlock nodded with a cold smile, before finally saying "John? Could I have a word?"<p>

John tried his hardest to ignore the muffled hysterics of his sister coming from behind him. "Of course," he said, trying hard to sound as indifferent as possible.

"Um, _alone_?" Sherlock stressed, a faint blush painting his high cheekbones.

"Sure." They walked into the corridor, closing the door behind them, both trying to block out the scream of laughter from within.

Sherlock cleared his throat. If John hadn't known the man better, he could have sworn he sounded nervous. "I," he began. "I wanted to apologise. For what I said yesterday, I didn't mean for you to hear that."

John frowned. "You mean to apologise for me _hearing_ what you said? Surely I should apologise to you?"

Sherlock's eyes widened. "No! No, I didn't mean it like that-"

"It's not a problem," John interjected suddenly. "Sherlock, you and I were never going to be the greatest of friends; we're two very different people. Whether you find me attractive or merely _tolerable_ is therefore irrelevant."

Sherlock looked down at his feet. "Well, I'm sorry, for everything I said. I hope that we can… _get on_, at least for the sake's of the others."

John smiled sweetly. "I had no intention of doing anything otherwise, Sherlock. Goodnight."

Sherlock, a little dazed, started to walk down the steps to meet the others. John saw him turn the corner before he opened the door, to find Harry, Mary and Kitty listening up against the wall.

"For God's sake, you three are ridiculous," he scolded, grabbing his coat. "I'll see you tomorrow."

Sherlock got into the taxi, feeling… well, he didn't know what. Frustration wasn't right, and neither was anger, and he certainly wasn't sad. No, this was new territory altogether.

"I know what you're thinking," said Anthea playfully, a little more sober. The drunk act was something she always did when she hated an evening, it gave her an excuse to leave the party early.

"I very much doubt that," Sherlock replied.

"You're thinking about that hellish evening. How could we stand to be in such dreadful company? I mean, do they always talk about such inane, useless things?"

Mycroft immediately protested. "I enjoy their company, Anthea."

"You enjoy _Greg's_ company," she said pointedly, her mouth twisted into a wide grin. "But that's because you want to fuck him. I can't abide the rest of them, personally."

Mycroft opened his mouth to speak, but then smiled. "Well, I think that Sherlock could." Sherlock shot him a look that could have cut steel, but Mycroft smiled. "You seemed particularly engrossed in the company of one person, brother…"

Anthea looked both annoyed and shocked. "Who?" she demanded.

"Perhaps John is not only _tolerable_ any more, Sherlock. I've never seen you willing apologise to anyone before now."

Sherlock muttered something that may or may not have contained the word "bastard". Anthea broke into hysterical laughter. "_John_? Really? Plain little John? Honestly Sherlock, I thought you had better taste…"

"Shut up, Anthea," Sherlock retorted. "I do not, repeat, _do not_ fancy John."

"No, no, this is brilliant!" she said between laughs. "I'm sure you'll make an adorable couple. Was it the eye thing? Does that make him exotic enough for you now? I'm sure you'll enjoy having _Harriet_ as a sister-in-law one day!"

Sherlock said nothing but stared out of the window. It was going to be hard, getting John Watson out of his head.

**The song that John sings is 'Leaving The Race' by Doll and the Kicks. THEY ARE AWESOME, GO LISTEN TO THEM.**

**Also, John's heterochromatic eyes became possible because JUST LOOK AT HIM. Does he have brown eyes? Does he have blue eyes? Does he have green eyes? I JUST DON'T KNOW ANY MORE. So I have concluded that Martin Freeman is a wizard, and can change his eye colour at will.**


	4. Chapter 4

**The lengths of my chapters are bizarre. OK, so I split this chapter into two, because it just took FOREVER and was like 5,000 words before, compared to the much shorter chapters previously. ****So the first chapter is a little dull, because nothing much vital plot detail happens- other than the introduction of my Mr Collins character. Now, I wonder who **_**he**_** will be? ;D**

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><p>John, for the next fortnight or so, found himself unexpectedly engrossed in his work. Both he and Molly had exams in November that it was urgent they prepared for, and they each had their own coping mechanisms. Molly preferred a system of reading their text book, rereading it a few times, making detailed notes on the textbook from memory, making flashcards on those notes, highlighting the most important parts, and finally committing them to memory. John preferred a spot check method of revision, being given questions when he least expected it. Greg would panic for a week before hand, having inevitably forgotten to do any revision before hand, but always do far, far better than either of them. If Greg hadn't been so nice, it would have been annoying.<p>

John leafed through the large textbook, mentally testing himself. It was dull, dull, dull. Particularly when he considered that Harry, Kitty and Mary were out flirting with the bartenders. Mary was often dragged along whilst Kitty and Harry shamelessly flirted with the guys (and in Harry's case, the girls too) who worked at the Meryton bar, which she did not enjoy, but she suffered through for the sake of her friends. John was surprised that Harry had not run out of staff, the number of people she brought back to her apartment. Molly often had to sleep downstairs on Greg and John's sofa, having gotten sick of hearing Harry have wild, energetic sex through their shared wall.

Speaking of Greg, the cautious flirting between him and Mycroft seemed to have escalated somewhat. They'd been out on a few dates together, and Greg had come back from each on a high, grinning like an idiot and unable to string a sentence together.

It was, quite frankly, adorable.

Greg was out on another date with Mycroft, this time to the theatre, and John was fairly sure he wouldn't be seeing Greg till the morning. That was, until he felt his phone vibrate against his leg.

'_Hi John. Could you pick me up from Mycroft's flat? Sorry to bother you at this time of night, but I hurt my leg tonight and I don't think I can walk. You're the only person I know with a car- don't worry, though, apart from a twisted ankle, a couple of bruises and a cut on my head, nothing much is wrong.'_

John shook his head. _Nothing much, then, only injuries that render you unable to walk._ Sighing, he grabbed his jacket and his car keys.

John reached Mycroft's flat at around one in the morning, but was unable to find a space to park. He ended up having to park a couple of streets away, meaning that he had to walk through the pouring rain to go and fetch Greg. To top it all off, a large car went past as he was walking and sprayed him with muddy water from the puddles. By the time he made it to the flat, he was soaked to the skin, shivering as Mycroft opened the door to him.

"Hi John," he said apologetically. "Thanks for coming. I would have gone in a taxi with him, but Greg didn't want to trouble me, and- God, sorry. Did we wake you?"

"No, don't worry about it," John smiled. "Where is he?"

Greg was sat on the sofa in Mycroft's apartment, with Anthea and Sherlock beside him. "So how did this happen?" John asked. "Did you fall?"

Mycroft and Greg exchanged a guilty look. "I, er," Greg began. "We were- And I- It was- I-"

"In fact," John interrupted. "I really don't want to know, do I?"

Mycroft and Greg nodded in unison. "John, you look freezing. Stay here for a bit while you warm up," said Anthea. Her words were sympathetic but her tone was not. She seemed more gleeful than anything that he looked so bedraggled in front of her, he couldn't imagine why.

"Thanks." John sat down in a chair opposite the others. He felt awfully like he was sat in court, about to be interrogated.

"So John," Anthea continued smoothly. "Greg tells me you both grew up in Islington?"

"Yeah, we did," he said, not quite sure how to respond.

"And you went to a comprehensive, is that right?"

"Yes," he said defensively. "A very good one."

"Oh, I'm sure," she said, smirking. "Do you like to read, John?"

"Er, yes." He could not be sure of where these questions were coming from or why they were being said. It was oddly chilling. Here was a woman who would make a fantastic police officer.

"Georgiana has a great many books," Anthea told him, as if this was some secret knowledge she was disclosing to him. "But Sherlock has never been much of a reader."

"Irrelevant to my studies," Sherlock said, in way of an explanation.

John swallowed. "I haven't had the privilege of meeting her personally," he said, grimacing. "I'm sure she is a lovely girl."

"She really is," Anthea said. "If I had a daughter, I would want her to be like Georgiana. She is truly talented. You see so many people hailed as 'gifted', but Georgiana is so skilled in every area. She paints, she can make her own clothes- very well, I might add- and she plays every instrument she is given."

John laughed. "I've never met anyone who can do all that."

"Yes, well," Anthea said smoothly. "Perhaps it's a superior gene." She sent Sherlock a look that would have made Lucifer blush, but it did not seem to move Sherlock either way. John was not surprised by Anthea's attraction to Sherlock, but he was by how obvious she made it. Honestly, did she not know the meaning of subtle?

"Yes, well," John said sourly. "We can't all be perfect." He gave Anthea a short, sweet smile, which she did not return. "If you'll excuse us," he said, getting to his feet. "We really should get going. I mean, it's really quite late now, and I have a lot of revision to be getting on with."

"I'll help you to your car," said Mycroft to Greg softly, kissing him softly and tenderly. Anthea's mouth fell open by a fraction, but John grinned.

"I'll help too," said Sherlock, not looking at the newly exposed couple.

"Thank you, Sherlock," John replied politely, unused to such helpfulness from the man. He smiled at Anthea before they left, feeling a little sick for doing so, and Mycroft helped Greg out of the door. There seemed like very little point of Sherlock being there, to be honest, they needed two people at most, one to help Greg and the other to open the car. Still, here he was. Trying to help. Badly.

"So…" Sherlock said finally, the drizzle forming a mist in the air. John could tell Sherlock was searching for small talk. "How long have you been playing the guitar?"

"I would have thought you could tell me that?"

"Four years, give or take a few months."

"Very good," John said smoothly. "Astonishing."

Sherlock paused, turning the corner onto the street where John's car was parked. "Do you write your own songs?"

"On occasion. Believe me; they're not to any great standard."

"I'm sure they are. What are they about?"

John fixed his gaze on the couple ahead of them, Mycroft's arm around Greg's waist to support him. "Love, usually."

"Music is the food of love," Sherlock quoted.

"Love, perhaps. But try and serenade a girl with a song you wrote her after three weeks of knowing each other, _that_ screams stalker apparently."

Sherlock laughed, a noise that even he must have realised sounded false. "I," he started, before swallowing hard. "I'm very uneducated in popular music."

"Surely you must like _something_?"

Sherlock ran a hand through his now damp hair. "I've been trying to focus on my studies. I haven't been getting out much. Perhaps you would care to recommend some?"

John laughed bitterly, but did not reply. He was not in the mood for Sherlock's sarcasm.

"John? Did you hear me?"

"I did," John said, more venomously than he had intended to. "But I'm not going to answer. You want me to say yes, so I will show you some stuff that I like, and you can mock me later. So no, Sherlock, I won't 'recommend' some to you, I won't give you the satisfaction."

Sherlock looked genuinely taken aback, and a little angry. "I didn't mean that at all, but you seem determined to think the worst of me."

They reached the car. John opened the door without another word to Sherlock. He gently helped Greg into the front seat and shut the door for him. "Thank you both for helping him," he said politely.

"It was nothing," said Mycroft happily. "I'm the one who broke him in the first place." There was an awkward pause, before Greg, Mycroft and John began to laugh. "I, er, didn't mean that _quite_ the way it came out." He knelt down beside the window. "So I'll see you on Saturday at the party?"

"Of course," said Greg happily. "Hopefully my foot will be better by then." He kissed Mycroft quickly again, before Mycroft stood back up.

"Bye," John said with a smile, determined to avoid meeting Sherlock's eye. He got into the car and drove away, sighing slightly as he did so.

Greg was smiling widely, despite obviously being in pain. "Sorry for getting you up," he said apologetically. "I didn't get you up, did I?"

"No, no, I was awake, don't worry." John drummed out a nervous rhythm on the steering wheel with his palms. "So how did this happen?"

Greg flushed. "There was a slight accident involving a kitchen worktop."

John would have screwed his eyes up had he not been driving at the time. "OH GOD. Why did I ask?"

Greg did nothing, except giggle like a fourteen year old girl. "Just because I have an exciting and vibrant sex life. Speaking of which- is anything happening there, at all?"

It was John's turn to blush. "No."

"Well we'll have to sort that out."

"No."

"But-"

"No."

"Just-"

"End of conversation."

Greg shut up rather quickly after that.

* * *

><p>If John thought that the next few days leading up to Mycroft's birthday would be dull, he was mistaken. On the Wednesday before the party, John found Mrs Hudson talking to a tall, dark haired man in the lobby of the house.<p>

"Ah, John!" she said, with a somewhat desperate smile. "This is Colin Anderson, my elder sister's grandson. So that would make him, what, my great nephew? Yes."

He smiled courteously at him, and shook his hand. "Please to meet you."

"Colin is a student at the University too."

"Criminology," he said, as an explanation. "I think I've seen you on campus?"

John nodded. "Yeah, you seem familiar. I'm John, John Watson, hi."

Mrs Hudson gave John a pained look. "Colin here is, well, the heir to my 'estate' as it were. I have no children, as you know, and my sister," there was a flash of anger in her eyes. "Well, she's my closest relative. Anyway, it was nice to see you Colin."

"Nice to see you, Auntie. Oh, and John," he turned to him. "I'll see you around."

Colin left, and Mrs Hudson sighed with relief. "Thank God. I cannot stand that boy."

John laughed, unused to seeing Mrs Hudson so unforgiving. "He didn't seem that bad."

Mrs Hudson scowled. "The insufferable little man. If two sisters haven't seen each other for twenty years, it suggests that there is a reason for it. Honestly, I would have put up with it, if he hadn't been so self obsessed all the bloody thing. Kept going on about his bloody flat near Rosing Park, wherever that is, and how well he and his flatmate were doing for themselves. It was like he worshipped the bloody woman- I forget her name, Sandra? Samantha?... Sally! That was it. God help the girl if she has to live with him!"

John was caught between concern and amusement. "He seemed nice enough to me."

"You'd think so, wouldn't you? All smiles and politeness, but it's like he's deliberately styled himself like that. There's a very thin veil of courtesy masking a body filled with arrogance, let me tell you that now."

John shrugged, and went to fetch his post from their pidgeon hole. He'd have to wait until he saw more of Colin Anderson before he judged him.

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><p>It did not take long for John to meet Colin Anderson again- suddenly, he seemed to bump into him wherever he went, in the library, in the corridors, even back at the apartment building. From a few brief conversations with him, John had concluded that he was a very grave man, but a polite one at least. Mrs Hudson had a point- everything about him seemed to be calculated, planned ahead to make him come off in the best way possible.<p>

Eventually they ran into each other as John, Greg and Molly were sat together in the campus canteen eating lunch, and Colin made his way over to them.

"Hi John," he said with a smile, glancing around at the group.

"Oh, hi Colin. Guys, this is Colin Anderson, he's a criminology student. He's Mrs Hudson's great nephew."

They all murmured their polite greetings, and Colin sat down beside them. "And your name is?" he said to Greg, his voice a low purr. John wasn't sure he liked his tone.

"Greg," he replied, and John was sure that Greg disliked the way Colin was speaking to him too.

"So, er, Greg," John said suddenly. "Looking forward to the party at your boyfriend Mycroft's on Saturday?"

Colin seemed to deflate slightly, and Greg gave John a thankful smile. "Yeah, it should be great."

"A party?" Colin said quickly. "Brilliant. Can I go?"

They exchanged a nervous look, before Greg said "I'm sure that would be fine."

"Great!" he said. "So you guys live in my aunt's building?"

"Yeah," Greg replied. "She gives us a very good rate for such a nice place."

"Oh, I see," said Colin, in a tone of sympathy. "Money troubles?"

Molly laughed. "Like all students."

"Oh, that's never happened to me," he said, a smug look on his face. "Don't worry, once my aunt dies, I'll be sure to keep the rent down.

John gaped at him, shocked. "She won't die any time soon, believe me! She's tough, your aunt."

"She looked very frail to _me_," he replied, as if this somehow settled the matter. John frowned. _She was probably restraining herself from beating you_. "So, what do you guys study?"

"Molly and I are med students, Greg studies History."

"Ah, interesting. I study criminology with my flatmate, Sally."

"Oh, that's nice," said Molly. "Is she with you now?"

"Oh no," he laughed. "She's far too busy, she's doing something else right now."  
>"I sure as hell wish I was," John murmured, too quietly for Colin to hear, causing Molly to have to fake a choking fit right then and there.<p>

Colin looked down at his watch, uninterested in Molly's sudden asphyxiation. "Well, I've got a class. I'll see you guys later."

He got up and left, leaving his tray where he had been sitting. "What a dick," John glared at Colin's retreating back. "I can't believe he said that about Mrs Hudson. Like he was waiting for her to die so he could have the bloody house!"

Molly nodded sadly. "What's more," said Greg with a grin, "he's violated the self clear policy of the university canteen."

John laughed. "Now _that_ I cannot abide." He picked up Anderson's tray and took it over to the bin to clear it with the others. "I need a break from it all. You guys fancy a drink at Meryton tonight?"

"Yeah, sure," Molly replied. "Not Harry. I know she's your sister, but- God. I need a rest."

John nodded. "Not a problem, believe me."

"Can I bring Myc?" Greg asked.

"Yeah, why not? Mycroft, I like. It's just," his mind flicked to Sherlock Holmes, "_others_ I can't stand."

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><p><strong>Does anyone actually know what Anderson's first name is? It caused me a huge dilemma, so I named him Colin for ease… Plus someone on my Twitter timeline was ranting about someone called Colin… It felt like fate. Pointless ramble is over now.<strong>


	5. Chapter 5

**UGH, I HATE IT WHEN CHAPTERS END AWKWARDLY. This was the only place I could really stop it... Sorry. Strange length is strange.**

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><p>John sat with a beer in his hand, finally managing to relax. He wouldn't have to deal with Anderson- he refused to call him Colin, nobody insulted Mrs Hudson in front of him and got away with it- and Anthea and Sherlock bloody Holmes until tomorrow, it wouldn't be <em>him<em> having to be polite to them all the time.

"John, it's your round," said Greg, waving an empty bottle at him. "Where the hell is Mycroft?"

"Relax, Greg, he's only a few minutes late," Molly assured him.

"Fifteen. That's not a few. That's over a dozen. That's over a BAKER'S dozen."

John got to his feet groggily and walked over to the bar. He approached Den, a guy he knew well from their many trips to the bar. "Two lagers and WKD mate."

"Hang on, I'll get our newbie to do it," said Den, glancing across the bar. "Jim! Get down here a sec, yeah?" A pale, dark haired man behind the bar walked over, a simple but sweet smile on his face. "John, this is Jim, our new bartender. Jim, this is John. John goes to the uni round the corner."

Jim smiled. "Jim Moriarty. Hi."

His soft Irish lilt was- well, quite _indecently_ attractive to John. "Hey."

Jim crouched under the bar to find John his drinks. "So you drink in here often?"

"Er, yeah, when I can." John found himself worrying about how his hair looked. "I haven't seen you around here before…"

"Just started," Jim replied, pulling a pint. "Believe me, if I had been, I would have made myself aware to you."

John blushed in spite of himself, but managed a smile. "I'm sat with my friends over there. When you get off shift, well, make yourself aware to us."

Jim laughed, a long sweet sound, before saying "Honestly, flirting with a bartender? How clichéd of you." The words were said kindly, in a teasing fashion, which was very endearing. "You'll distract me from my work."

"I don't know what you mean," John replied coyly. "Thanks for the drink."

"Not a problem," he said with a wink. John walked back to the table, only now noticing that the others had been watching him.

"Bloody hell John!" said Molly with an excited squeak. "Who was that? He's cute."

"His name's Jim," John said with a smirk. "I think my life is about to get a whole lot more interesting."

Around an hour later, Jim did in fact come over to sit by them. He was very pleasant, in fact, he was one of the most charming people John had ever met. The bar blocking him from view had not done him justice- although Jim was small, he was well built, and the tight black T-Shirt he wore as part of his uniform only drew attention to this.

"I think there's a girl over there staring at you, Jim," said Greg, glancing over at her. They all turned to see a stunning blonde woman beckoning suggestively at Jim, to which he sighed. "Oh God, I hate it when the straighties think I'm one of them. Better send them a message." He put his arm around John's shoulders, gently stroking his shoulder. It shouldn't have felt as good as it did. Eventually, once the women had looked away in disappointment, Jim released him.

Molly blinked. "Why are all my male friends gay?" she wailed.

They all laughed, John hugging her sympathetically. Greg craned his neck, "Oh look, Mycroft's finally here!" He waved over at him.

"Mycroft?" said Jim suddenly.

"Er, yeah," said John, a little worried. His carefree tone had darkened. "Mycroft Holmes. Do you know him?"

"Not very well," Jim said, his voice a mixture of fear and bitterness. "But I know his brother."

Mycroft made it to the table, with Sherlock reluctantly in tow. "I'm so sorry I'm late, the traffic was-" Mycroft stopped at the sight of Jim and visibly paled. "Jim?"

Sherlock's face contorted into an expression of rage. "Where is he?" he snarled.

"Right here," Jim replied. "Hello, Sherlock, Mycroft. Nice to see you again."

"Not bloody likely," Sherlock spat. "I thought I told you to stay away from me?"

"It was a coincidence!" Jim protested. "In the whole of central London, how did I know that you'd come to the bar where I work?"

There was a steely silence. "You keep away from me and my family. Clear?"

"Crystal," Jim said weakly.

"I," Mycroft began, stepping in front of his brother. "I have to go, Greg, I'm sorry. I'll make it up to you- lunch tomorrow?"

Greg nodded sadly, and Mycroft kissed him quickly before dragging his brother out of the bar.

"Jesus," said Jim, exhaling. "Of all the people to bump into…"

"How do you know Mycroft?" Greg asked Jim urgently. This was the last thing Greg needed- if Mycroft turned out to be a bastard, he didn't know what Greg would do…

"Oh, I went to school with Sherlock. Mycroft seems like a nice bloke, don't worry, I've no problem with _him_."

Satisfied, Greg smiled back at Jim, genuinely relieved. "Molly, it's getting late, and wasn't there that thing you wanted to show me at your flat?"

Molly looked puzzled. "What thing?"

"You know, the _thing_?"

The penny dropped for Molly. "Oh! The thing! Right, yes, let's go look at that! Bye John, Jim."

They left, and John and Jim both began to laugh. "Subtle, your friends, aren't they?" Jim smiled.

"Oh yeah, they're well known for it." John found himself having unconsciously moved closer to him. "Do you mind if I ask what all that was about?"

"That's really more of a third date revelation."

"How do I know there's going to be a third date?"

"Would you like there to be a first one?" Jim smiled.

"Very much so."

Jim looked down at his drink. "Have you known Sherlock long?"

"Only for a couple of weeks."

Jim sighed. "I wouldn't like to change your opinion of him for the worse."

John scowled. "I didn't have a good opinion of him in the first place. He's not someone I enjoy spending time with."

Jim looked reluctant to say whatever he was thinking. "Is he going to be here long, do you know?"

John thought for a moment. "Well, they moved from Cambridge to London, I know that much, so I assume they're staying here indefinitely."

Jim looked grim. "We went to the same school, you see. I got in on a scholarship, there was no way I would have been able to afford- well, it was a nice place. Sherlock and I, we used to be friends, I used to go round to his house a lot. A huge place it was too- I felt wrong just going in there. But Sherlock's dad was a lovely man, and we got on very well. It pains me that we couldn't have remained closer, for the sake of his father."

John was suddenly concerned. "But what happened?"

Jim bit his lip. "All through secondary school, we were good friends, best friends even. We were always together, and top of the class. Until… We received our GCSE results, and I beat him. Marginally, believe me, it was by the tiniest amount, but he hated it. He resented me for it, I think, because he always hated being wrong. We drifted apart, I stopped visiting him at his, we made other friends. But his father still remembered me, and my money situation, and he was a very generous man. Unfortunately, god rest his soul, he died at around about the time I was finishing my A-Levels. In his will, Sherlock's father had left me a certain amount of money, to be spent on getting a good place at university."

John listened, fascinated and worried at the same time. "I'm guessing Sherlock didn't like this?"

"He hated it. He chose to withheld the money from me, ensuring that I could never afford to go to university. And here I am, making drinks behind a bar to richer, more successful people. You must think I'm pretty pathetic."

John unconsciously placed his hand on top of Jim's where it lay on the table. "Of course not."

Jim glanced down at the hand. John recoiled as soon as he realised what he had done. "Sorry."

"No," said Jim, his voice low and light. "Don't be sorry." He glanced at the clock. "The bar will close soon. Do you want to go for a walk?"

"I'd like that."

They left the bar and stepped out into the cool night air. "What Sherlock did is unforgiveable, Jim. You should sue him."

Jim laughed. "With what? I can't afford a lawyer right now. Besides, it's the past, and I admired his father too much to disgrace his son so publically."

John couldn't quite comprehend him. He was so selfless, so forgiving, so the opposite of Sherlock. "What a dick."

"He's a good friend, when he likes you," Jim said fairly. "And a good brother to Georgiana."

John was actually surprised, he was beginning to doubt the existence of the famed Holmes sister. "You've actually met the elusive Georgiana? What's she like?"

Jim again looked unwilling to speak. "I really wish I could tell you how unlike her brother she is, but… She is so very similar to him. When she was younger, she was very sweet, I'd play with her a lot and she loved me to pieces. But as she grew older, she became more and more like her brother. Beautiful, talented, but very proud."

John said nothing, just walked down the street a little further.

"I'm astonished that Mycroft turned out so, well, _nice_. I never really saw him much, he was always shut up in his study, but he seems completely different to those two."

John realised that they had walked right to the door of the house. "This is my stop."

"Oh, well then. It's a shame I didn't spend more time with you," Jim said sadly.

"You still can. We're going to a party at Mycroft's tomorrow night- it'll be full of people who detest me for going to a comprehensive, I'm sure. Would you like to come? You might make it just bearable."

Jim smiled. "I really would like that." Without warning, Jim leaned in and kissed John, his lips passionate but never overbearing. John reciprocated quickly, only breaking apart from Jim when he had to breathe.

Jim looked almost guilty. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have done that. Too soon."

"No, it's fine. It's all fine."

Jim smiled shyly and they exchanged numbers in a weird euphoria, before Jim left to catch his tube. Quite how two people could grow up together, and be such polar opposites, he had no idea.

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><p><strong>*GASP* YEAH! IT'S JIM! oOoOoOoOo<strong>

**Yeah, not THAT much of a surprise… Still, hopefully you'll see where I'm going with this…**


	6. Chapter 6

**This is another split chapter. I'm kind of doing this in a hurry, because I'm going on holiday tomorrow, so I won't be updating for about 2 weeks, I think. Here you go:**

**EDIT: In my haste to get this out, I forgot to thank my beta speckledband, like an idiot. STUPID BETHAN. So thanks!**

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><p>John unlocked the door to his flat, walking a little unsteadily. Whether this was down to Jim's revelation or the way he had kissed him was uncertain, but upon seeing him, Greg took it as the latter.<p>

"John, you look like you can't stand up straight. Good night, I'm guessing?" Greg raised his eyebrow with a grin, an movement containing a thousand implications. Implications that he could not possibly deny.

"…Yeah." He threw his jacket onto the sofa. "Really great, actually."

Lestrade sat cross legged on the sofa with a cushion clutched to his chest. He'd clearly been waiting up for John to get back. "So? Are you going to see him again?"

"I invited him to Mycroft's party- if that's alright, of course?"

Lestrade waved it aside. "Of course. But wow! That's great! It's about time you got yourself a boyfriend, you've been moping around here for so long after the last guy."

John glared at him. "At least if I'm with Jim I won't have to talk to Sherlock."

Lestrade frowned at the memory. "Oh yeah, I forgot- what was that about? I would have stayed to ask, but I was so relieved that it wasn't about Mycroft, and you guys looked like you needed some alone time."

John recounted the story of Jim and Sherlock's childhood particularly venomously, and Greg listened with astonishment and concern. "I don't believe it!"

"It's true. Poor Mycroft, being related to someone like that."

"It _can__'__t_ be true!" said Greg with surprise. "I'm not saying Jim's lying, obviously he's not, but- I know Sherlock's a bit arrogant and irritating, but not even he would do something so despicable. I mean, it's bad enough to withhold the money from Jim, but to deny his father's last wishes? That's positively inhuman. Sherlock's not capable of that. Oh God, I don't know what to think about him anymore…"

John widened his eyes. "I know _exactly_ what I think of him. I think Sherlock is a complete and utter wanker."

Greg looked solemn. "Well, that's brought the mood down. At least you've got a date with Jim."

The flush spreading across his face had nothing to do with the heat. "I suppose I have. One thing's for certain- Jim Moriarty is far superior to Sherlock Holmes, in every way."

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><p>John's happiness at Jim coming to the party was to be short lived. At around five o'clock, he had received a text from Jim, apologetically stating that he could not in fact come, as the shifts had been mixed up and he had to work that night.<p>

John was, at first, worried that this had been Jim's way of blowing him off. He doubted that he was working tonight. But, as Greg pointed out when he told him about the message, it could well be that Jim was simply too afraid of what Sherlock might do if John brought him to Mycroft's party. This realisation brought John's hatred of Sherlock to boil, where before it had merely been simmering resentment.

At around eight, Anderson had arrived on the doorstep of their flat, grinning eagerly at them all. His presence only made John feel worse, particularly when Anderson was leering at everything that moved.

"You alright, John?" he asked, his voice slow and soft. "You look nervous."

John nodded, but said nothing.

"You look nice tonight," Anderson moved a step closer to him, his voice a catlike purr. "Very nice indeed."

John nearly choked, mouthing at Anderson that he needed to get water. Oh lord. This wasn't what he needed right now. Colin bloody Anderson, slimiest of the slimeballs, flirting with him. The mere thought of it made him shiver.

They had all crammed themselves into a taxi- they were students, after all, they couldn't afford the luxury of getting two taxis back- after they had eventually torn Harry away from her bathroom mirror.

"How are things going with Mycroft?" Molly squeaked, her body compressed by Kitty, who was sitting on her lap.

"Oh, great actually," Greg replied, his voice slipping back into the dreamlike quality it had whenever he spoke about his boyfriend. John detested the word 'boyfriend', it seemed so childlike. 'Partner' was too serious for such an early relationship, and 'lover' didn't seem appropriate. What was Jim to him?

To his horror, John felt Anderson shift next to him, positioning himself so his hand gently brushed John's back. He didn't dare turn around, for fear of seeing Anderson leering back at him, so he simply ignored that it was there.

After Anderson had gotten so touchy feely, the cab journey felt like forever, but eventually they reached the Victorian house that they knew was 221 Baker Street. John was surprised to hear music from Mycroft's flat, audible through the walls. He had assumed that a party held by Mycroft would be stately and civilised, not with loud dance music.

They were relieved when Mycroft answered the door to them so quickly, kissing Greg almost as soon as he saw him. "Glad you could make it!"

"Mycroft," Molly began. "This is-"

"Colin, Colin Anderson," Anderson interrupted. "Nice to meet you."

Mycroft shook his hand. "Nice to meet you too."

Anderson looked around at the room. "Nice place you've got here. Very like my _house_," he put deliberate emphasis on the word. "Was it affordable?"

John frowned at the question. Didn't Anderson have any idea of appropriate topics of conversation? Mycroft looked taken aback, but took the question in his stride. "Reasonably so."

"Ah, I see. I pay a bomb for my house's rent- then again, if you're going to live in my neighbourhood, you have to be prepared to pay a lot." If the man was any smugger, he'd give Sherlock a run for his money. "And I've got the cash."

Mycroft did not know what to say to this, but simply smiled. "Do you want to come up?"

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><p>No, this was certainly not the party he would have expected Mycroft to hold. People were dancing, drinking and generally being irresponsible, and there was an aroma in the air that smelled distinctly of weed. Clearly, Mycroft knew what people wanted, and how to give it to them.<p>

John and Molly waited awkwardly in a corner with their drinks, not really knowing many of the people who had attended. He suspected most of them were politics students, like Mycroft and Anthea, or were friends of friends. Greg and Mycroft had suddenly disappeared, presumably off to a back room for some 'private time'. They had taken long enough getting together, but once they _had_, by God were they all over each other.

John finished telling Molly about what he had learned from Jim, and she was clearly outraged. And a bit drunk, but this didn't feel important at the time.

"The fucking WANKER. The little shit did that to Jim? Where the fuck is he? I'll talk to him." Molly wasn't drunk often, but when she was, it had either hilarious or mortifying results. Molly wasn't an impulsive person by nature, but when she was pissed, she seemed to lose her inhibitions and do or say the first thing that came into her head.

John placed his hands on her shoulders reassuringly. "No, don't do that. The bastard doesn't even deserve that, all that anger and attention would just make him happy. I'm sure he's just trying to get a reaction from you."

"Hey! John!"

John grimaced, but then smiled genuinely at the sight of Den, the bartender at the Meryton. "Hey, Den! Enjoying yourself?"

"Yeah!" Den replied, passing John a beer from the cooler. "Who'd have thought it? Mycroft knows how to party." He paused briefly. "I saw you with Jim last night- you two getting on alright?"

"I like to think so. I invited him here, but he said he had to work tonight."

"He stepped in for one of the girls at the last minute. He's a good bloke- and from what I can tell, he's very enthusiastic about you, John." Den gave him a wink and walked away.

Molly elbowed him in the ribs. "See? Everyone can see it."

It was lucky it was dark; otherwise everyone would have seen John blush scarlet. Every high point has its low, of course, and John's came in the form of Anderson. He staggered over to them, clearly off his head, and gave them a huge grin.

"Colin, are you fucking stoned?" John asked. "That's awful for you, you realise that? You could become addicted."

"Oh, fuck that," Anderson drawled, "come and dance."

He grabbed hold of John's arm. "Er, Colin, I-"

Anderson paid no attention to John's protestations, tugging him over to where the others were dancing. He blocked John into the crowd, unable to get out. John danced nervously to the music, ignoring the howls of laughter from Molly that he could hear over the music.

It soon became apparent that Anderson was a terrible dancer. His movements were uncoordinated, sudden and jerking spasms of his limbs, which made him look like he was having some sort of fit. This wouldn't have bothered John, if Anderson hadn't clearly been so confident of his own dancing skill. Anderson seemed to think he was some sort of sex god.

After two songs finished, John attempted to extricate himself. "I'm just going to go and see what Harry's doing…"

Anderson moved closer to him and whispered into his ear, "You look so fucking sexy tonight, John."

Repulsed, John crossed his arms defensively. "Colin, I don't think-"

Anderson placed a hand on John's chest, still dancing badly. "Do you fancy seeing my house after this tonight? I'm sure you'd love it."

"Can't! Sorry!" John replied, his voice suddenly high from his revulsion. "Just give me a moment!"

John elbowed his way out of the crowd quickly, leaving Anderson in his wake. He would _kill_ Molly for letting Anderson drag him off like that.

"Molly!" he said, when he eventually found her. "What was that about?"

Molly giggled. "I'm sorry John, but it was really, _really_ funny."

John scowled. "It was _not_ funny! Molly, I swear to God-" There was a tap on his shoulder.

John turned to see Sherlock in front of him, dressed much as he always was, his shirt plum coloured today. Jesus, didn't the man have any other clothes to wear?

"John," Sherlock said smoothly. "Fancy a dance?"

He was so shocked at the offer that before he could reject Sherlock out of hand, he nodded. Molly gasped but said nothing.

"I fucking hate you, Holmes," was what John would have liked to say, but his mouth seemed incapable of forming words at this point. His legs, however, carried him halfway across the room, bypassing his brain altogether.


	7. Chapter 7

** Thanks to speckledband for being my beta! **

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><p>John had imagined Sherlock to dance terribly- his long, gangly limbs seemed too cumbersome to be graceful. But somehow, Sherlock managed to seem… <em>elegant<em> whilst dancing. He had a hidden dexterity that others did not have.

They remained silent for a great while, and it was almost irritating to John. He detested the man, yes, but he should at least speak to him. That was what was done.

_Let him stay silent for all I care_, John thought suddenly and bitterly, before his brain realised that Sherlock would be far more annoyed at John making him talk.

"Lot of people here tonight," John noted.

"Yes." Sherlock said brusquely. "There are."

There was another awkward silence. "Your go," John said with a smirk.

"Excuse me?"

"I said something, now you say something. Isn't that how conversations happen?"

Sherlock smiled, which John had not been expecting. "What would you like me to say?"

"You know what? Let's not bother. It'll only be painful for both of us."

For a brief moment, Sherlock looked hurt, deeply hurt in fact- but John must have imagined it, because a few seconds later, Sherlock laughed. "Are you always so talkative?"

"It's what normal people do," John replied flatly. "Neither of us is adept in social situations, I thought perhaps we should just spell it out to each other."

Sherlock paused. "You aren't?"

"No. I'm unsociable, withdrawn and generally not a fun person to be around. Very much like you, in fact."

"I wouldn't call you any of those things," Sherlock said quietly, so quietly John nearly missed it. "Me, perhaps, but not you."

John could not think of a response, until a wicked thought entered his head. "You saw us with Jim at the bar last night."

Even in the dark, John could see the flush that spread across Sherlock's skin. "Made _friends_, did you?" The bitter, acidic quality of his voice did not go unnoticed by John, even in the noisy flat.

"Yes," he replied. "I hope we can be very _close_."

John did not think that such an obvious taunt would work- and why would Sherlock care about him and Jim anyway? - but the effect it had on Sherlock was dramatic. He clenched his fists, stopping still where he stood, chewing on his bottom lip angrily. "Jim has always made friends quickly; it is part of his unbearable charm. He has been less successful at keeping them."

"So I've heard," John stopped dancing too. "I'm sure he _deeply_ regrets losing your friendship, Sherlock."

Sherlock glared at John. "Perhaps we should change the subject?"

"If you think that would help," John replied, caught between anger at Sherlock and delight in baiting him like this.

Sherlock searched for a question, beginning to dance again. "Do you like books?"

"Not the ones that you enjoy, I imagine."

"You are giving a very good impression of hating me, John."

"Would it bother you if I did?" John said contemptuously. "Would it bother you if _anyone_ disliked you?"

"Not everyone," Sherlock said softly. "But you? Yes, yes I think it would."

John didn't know how to reply and stalked angrily away, unaware of the mixture of feelings racing around Sherlock's head. He had to find Molly again. John bumped into Anthea before he realised who she was, and inwardly groaned as she flashed him a catlike grin. "John!" she said smoothly, her voice gleeful. "I hear you've got yourself a budding relationship. "Jim Moriarty- a _bartender_." She licked her lips in delight. Of course she would find the idea of him liking a _lowly_ bartender laughable. "How cute. He and Sherlock used to be such good friends- they fell out, of course, Jim did something unforgiveable. I'm not quite sure what, Sherlock and Mycroft won't talk about it, but just so you know. I don't want you embarking on a _romance_ with him without knowing the facts."

_Like hell you don__'__t_. "Jim told me all about it, actually, and I think you'll find that Sherlock is very much in the wrong. So _thank you_, Anthea, but _no thank you_."

Anthea stared coldly at him. "I was only trying to help."

John excused himself abruptly and kept on searching for Molly. Anthea would never help him- John wasn't good enough for her company. Across the room he saw Greg and Mycroft curled up together on a sofa, Mycroft stroking Greg's hair softly and staring adoringly into his eyes. Just for a second, all his anger and resentment at the rest of the world melted, and he was overcome with happiness for Greg. Finally, he'd found someone worthy of his time.

John was distracted from the scene of domestic bliss at a loud, harsh wail. He turned to see Harry, Mary and Kitty all staggering around beside him, singing badly.

"_I'__m bringing sexy back, YEAH! Them other boys don__'__t know how to act, YEAH! I think it__'__s special what__'__s behind your back, YEAH! So turn around and I__'__ll pick up the slack, YEAH!__"_

John grimaced. This was painfully embarrassing. His sister and her friends singing _Sexy Back _whilst others around them laughed- what had his life come to?

Mary cleared her throat, clearly taking a solo. _"Dirty babe, you see these shackles? Baby, I'__m your slave," _Mary's voice was far from good- it sounded like a loose pipe. _"I'__ll let you whip me if I misbehave, it__'__s just that no-one makes me feel this way…"_

She finished on a long, warbling note that was horrifically atonal. Mary didn't seem to realise she was singing so off key- or just simply didn't care.

The girls burst into laughter and staggered away. There was a ripple of laughter around the crowd nearby, coupled with comments like "Jesus, someone put a muzzle on that girl."

Harry tapped him on the back. "Hey, Johnny!"

John cringed with embarrassment as the others looked around at him, suppressing their giggles. "Never call me _Johnny_, Harriet."

"Ooh! Somebody's angsty! You never call me Harriet unless you're annoyed at me. Spill- what have I done now?"

"You are embarrassing yourself, and me, Harry. Calm down and sober up, will you?"

Harry pouted playfully. "But Anderson's not, and neither is Molly. They're both off their fucking heads. That's hardly fair, John, just because you're playing Little Miss Abstinence."

John glared sharply at her. "Must you be so childish, Harry? Act your age."

Harry frowned equally as harshly back at him. It occurred to John that perhaps he had gone a little too far, but he was sure that Harry would find some way to get back at him. "Colin?" she called across the room, never taking her eyes off John. "I found him! You were looking for him, weren't you?"

John found Anderson suddenly at his side, his breath stinking of alcohol. Harry smirked at him whilst John mouthed obscene curses back, before she went back to Mary and Kitty, leaving the pair alone.

"I've been waiting to get you on your own all night," he snarled, walking closer to him.

John backed up until he hit the wall behind him. "Excuse me; I just have to ask Greg-"

"Forget about Greg." Anderson put one palm flat against the wall, bringing himself closer to John. "Oh John, you've been playing hard to get with me, haven't you? Trying to keep me keen? I was glad of the time, John, all that sexual tension between us, it only intensified my feelings." Anderson's fingers crept up John's body like a spider, resting finally on John's clavicle and stroking the hard bone.

"Colin," John managed finally, trying to keep his voice firm and calm. "You are very, _very_ drunk. Maybe you should go home?"

"Not without you," Anderson answered with a growl, dragging his hand across John's face.

John batted it away quickly. "Stop it, Colin."

If anything, Anderson smiled wider. "You can drop the act, John. I've seen, I know. I can tell how much you want me." He crushed their bodies together, John struggling to get out of this horrific embrace. Swiftly, Anderson forcefully pressed his lips against John's, his tongue fighting desperately to gain access to John's mouth.

John pushed Anderson off him with a gasp. "Colin, get off me now, or I swear to God, I will scream 'rape' at the top of my lungs."

Anderson frowned. "John, what are you doing?"

"I don't like you like that, Colin!"

Anderson laughed. "Right, OK. Do you get off on games like that? Because I like a guy who experiments sexually."

"I don't get off on it! I can say that confidently- I am 100% sure that I do not find you attractive, and I never shall!"

Anderson looked shocked, and stammered, "You're kidding? But- All those signals you were sending me…"

"There were no signals, Anderson, you imagined them. Now please, let me go." He saw Molly nearby in the room- _oh thank God. _Molly, his safety net, his escape route, his way out. "Molly!" he called out, finally freeing himself from Anderson. "Please, keep Anderson occupied, just for a moment," he hissed at her.

She looked reluctant. "John, I-"

"Just for a minute or two! Please, I'd be forever in your debt. I'll explain tomorrow."

She nodded and John hugged her quickly, before he pushed his way through the crowd to find the door. He had to go. He had to leave. This had been a truly horrific evening. He shoved his hand inside his pocket for his phone, typing out a brief explanation to Greg as to where he'd gone and heading out onto the street.

* * *

><p><em>Jesus Christ<em>.

A sharp, white hot pain rattled in John's skull, a pain that was all too familiar. John groaned into his pillow, screwing up his eyes to block out that blinding light. He stuck an arm out of bed and felt around on his bedside table, searching for the sunglasses he kept nearby for just such an occasion.

He lazily shoved them onto his head, helping the pain in his head die down just a little. Desperately, he wrenched his aching body out of bed and stumbled into the kitchen, turning on the tap quickly and drinking from the violent stream of water.

_Paracetemol_. John threw open some of his cupboards, trying to find the little pack of pills he so needed, but it was in vain. _Who would have paracetamol? _His mind fell on an answer- Molly. Good old Molly, reliable, ever prepared Molly. Grabbing his dressing gown, he put it on as he stumbled up the stairs to her flat.

What he hadn't been prepared to see was Molly stood in her underwear, saying an awkward goodbye to, of all people, _Colin Anderson_.

John gaped, looking from one to the other and back again, whilst Molly stared sheepishly back. Anderson gave him a conceited yet contemptuous look, before kissing Molly passionately as means of a goodbye.

_Well, he moved on quickly._ Anderson walked past him on the stairs without making eye contact, and John could not move until he heard Anderson leave the building. "What the hell was that?"

Molly sighed. "Not now, John. Save the lecture for later, but I am really hung-over and I'm not in the mood."

She entered her flat and John followed, his mouth still agape. "But- You? Him? _Him?_"

"Yes, him!" she said, exasperated, holding her head in her hands.

John tried breathing slowly, to calm himself down. "It's OK, Molly, it's OK. You were drunk, you had no idea what you were doing. We've all done it."

Instead of the look of wretched regret he was expecting, John was surprised to see Molly looking furiously at him. "For God's sake, John. For once in your life, just _don__'__t_."

John frowned. "What?"

Molly bit her lip in frustration. "Just leave him alone, will you? I know that you've got a reputation to maintain, but for my sake, will you not say something witty and cutting about him?"

John laughed and took her hand. "Molly, it's OK. I'm not going to take the piss out of you. Lord knows, I've gone home with some real pieces of work in my time-"

Molly forced her hand violently from his. "Stop it!"

"Molly, you hate him just as much as I do."

"Do I, John?" she said angrily. "Just because you hate him, do I have to? What if I found him kind, or charming, or I just _liked_ him, what would you do then?"

John laughed incredulously. "But you _don__'__t_, Molly! He's just a desperate, sad little loser who thinks far too much of himself."

"'Desperate' is he?" She said, tears beginning to fill her eyes. "Oh, well that explains it."

Horrified, John realised how that had sounded. "No, I didn't mean-"

"I know _exactly_ what you meant, John," she interrupted, stunning him into silence. "And it's true. Why should he like me when _you_ are around, John? When _anyone_ is around, who could look at poor, plain little Molly Hooper? It's been like this way my whole life, John, and I'm sick of it, _sick_ of it."

"Molly, you're not plain, you're beautiful."

She laughed bitterly, tears streaming down her face. "Don't fuck with me, John. I know he likes you, he likes you more, and I imagine he always will. But I am giving this relationship a go, John, because if I get a chance at happiness, I take it."

John widened his eyes. "You're _dating_ him?"

"Yes, John! Why is that so hard to believe? Isn't that the way it's always been? The beautiful can pick and choose, whilst the desperate people below have to settle for what they can get."

"Molly, you can do so much better than him."

"But I _can__'__t_, John. And you know I can't."

"Molly!" He grabbed both her shoulders and shook her. "Stop talking like this!"

Molly shook him off, glaring sharply back at him. "I'm not _romantic_, John. I can't afford to be." Her voice cracked with the strain of talking. "Years of my life have been wasted chasing after men who never even _look_ at me, and why should they?" She sat down on a stool nearby. "People like me can't afford to be choosy, John, and if someone comes along that I can see even a glimmer of potential in, I will try for them. Oh don't look at me like that, John," she spat. "What the hell would you know about it, anyway? You were the one who buggered off and left me with him."

"I was trying to get away from him," he said, starting to feel angry now. "Because he forced himself upon me. Do you want to be with a man like that?"

"It's better than being alone!" she screamed, her face reddened in anger and despair. "Here I've found someone who will settle for me, John, and you don't know how rare it is to find that in a man. He's well off, he's respectable and he's someone I can bring home to see my parents. He's not perfect, but he's not an alcoholic and he won't beat me, that is more than some women get. I consider myself lucky. I'm just trying it out, John. It could end tomorrow, for all I know. Just let me try it with him."

"And that's enough for you, is it?"

"It will have to be."

John shook his head and said venomously, "I hope you two are very happy together."

He began to walk towards the door, before he heard Molly laugh. "That's right, John, just run away from the problem, just like you always do."

"Excuse me?"

"People like you _sicken_ me. You walk around expecting every little thing to be perfect, just so, exactly as they should be- well, that's not the way the world works, John, not for all of us. You can't face it when you don't get your own way, that's the real issue here."

John laughed coldly. "Whatever, Molly, don't even try that shit with me."

"Go ahead! Run away, run away again like you did last night. But don't think you'll get any sympathy from me when another part of your life goes to shit."

"Another?"

Molly stood up again, hands clenched. "If you'd _cared_ enough to stick around last night, not only would I have not slept with Anderson, you would also have been there for Greg, when he _needed_ you. Have you even checked where he is this morning?"

John shook his head blankly.

"Why does that not surprise me?" she said bitterly. "Mycroft broke up with Greg last night, God knows why, but he did. And where the fuck were you, his best friend? Asleep at home, because you couldn't _handle _it. I'd advise you to go and look after him, he needs all the care he can get right now. Now get the fuck out of my flat."

John slammed the front door behind him, seething.


	8. Chapter 8

**Hey guys. Long time no updates, huh? I'm sorry, going back to school for Year 11 has been hectic. I've got my penultimate History exam next Tuesday, then my final Maths, then my mock weeks, then my Physics retake in January, then my English Lit exam, and then ALKJALKJDSFLAK;JSDF THEN THEY ALL COME AT ONCE. So yeah, freaking out just a teensy bit, that and a couple of issues that basically consist of me longing after one of my best friends.**

**JESUS BETHAN STOP TELLING STRANGERS YOUR PROBLEMS. **

**Shutting up with the personal crap now :) This is more of a bridge chapter before what I have now dubbed "THE DINNER PARTY OF REVELATIONS". DUN DUN DUHHHHHHH. Yah. DRAMA. So things in this timeline are sped up to a huge level, because I figured having all this courtship occur over a year or so wouldn't be practical in this modern situation. Everything happens so fast... Anyway, I'm rambling. Have a chapter.**

**P.S ALL HAIL TO THE BETA- OryonUK, or Kim as I know her :D**

* * *

><p>A crumpled duvet hid a fragile figure beneath it, screwed up into a ball.<p>

"Greg?"

Nothing still.

"Greg, can I come in?"

The silence remained impenetrable, which John took for consent. Opening the door fully, John stepped in and cautiously perched himself on the end of his friend's bed.

"Greg, I want to help in anyway I can," the Greg shaped lump shifted slightly but remained quiet so John pushed on. "If you want me to help... Do you?"

A muffled "yes" emerged from somewhere beneath the folds and Greg eventually wrenched the duvet from over his head to reveal eyes red raw and puffy from crying. John's stomach dropped at the sight- he could not help but think that maybe, just maybe, he might have prevented this.

"I'm so sorry, Greg. Did he say why?"

"He's moving," Greg replied, his voice rough strangely steady. "Moving universities, he's going up to Scotland."

"How is that a legitimate reason?"

"He didn't want a long distance relationship. I mean, he's probably right, it would never have lasted."

John shook his head. How the man could be so reasonable when he was hurting so badly, he would never know. "Will he be coming back to London after he's finished university?"

"She didn't make it seem like he would, no."

John's brow furrowed in confusion "She?"

Greg sat up, tucking his knees into his chest. "I ran into Anthea on the way out. She told me about his career plans- apparently moving was her idea. She's going with him too and Sherlock's going up for a few days to help them settle in."

"Well, every cloud has a silver lining," John muttered.

Greg looked indignantly at him. "John!"

"She's a cow, Greg. She's always been one, you're just too nice to see it. Also the less said about Sherlock the better. I hope they're happy together."

Greg shot him a puzzled look. "What?"

"Oh come on, you must have seen the way she acts around him. She might as well have a flashing neon sign saying 'TAKE ME' installed above her head with the appalling looks she gives him. She's like Nigella Lawson but without the ability to cook. As nice as Mycroft is, Anthea's disappearance is of no great loss to us and I'm sure the feeling is entirely mutual."

"You shouldn't be so cruel, John."

"Me, cruel? I'm just being realistic Greg, realistic enough to see that no matter how hard we try, we will never be considered good enough for that kind of person."

Greg looked despondently down at the ground and John realised he may have let a little too much of his own frustration out. He had not forgotten the way that Molly had just acted with him and the fact that deep down, he knew she was right. As usual.

"Sorry."

"It's fine."

"It's OK to be angry you know. You don't have to keep a stiff upper lip; we're not in Regency England," John said, giving Greg a little nudge with his elbow.

"I know," Greg replied softly. "I know."

"You know what you're going to do? You're going to allow yourself one day and only one day, to be dramatic. You're going to sit around in your pyjamas, eat ice cream and watch romantic crap on DVD. Then tomorrow, you'll get up and you won't have the energy to be angry, all the anger will have gone. Tomorrow is a new day, but for today, you can get shitfaced and cry. Understand?"

Greg laughed. "You think that will help?"

"I am a medical student, Gregory. This method is scientifically proven to cure BHS, or in layman's terms, Broken Heart Syndrome."

"You're a daft sod, you know that?"

"Oh yes."

There was a knock at the front door. "I'll get it," John started, already halfway to the bedroom door before glancing at Greg over his shoulder. "You sure you're OK?"

"Give me time, but yeah. I'm OK." John nodded, his lips quirking into a small smile as he left his friends room.

When he opened the front door his gaze was met with that of a dark haired young man.

"I'm so sorry about last night," Jim said apologetically. "My shift got mixed up, and-"

John silenced him with a kiss, knocking Jim backwards and making him drop his coat. "Oh," Jim managed with a grin when John finally let him go. "Am I forgiven?"

"Completely," he replied. "It was sweet of you to come."

"I felt bad," Jim admitted. "I didn't want you to think that I was blowing you off. I left you an answer message..."

"Oh god, I think I left my phone at the party. I'd go over to get it, but... It's insured. Its all fine, my contract runs out in December anyway."

"Do you want to come for a drink tonight? It's my night off."

"I'd love to, but- well, it's kind of complicated. I need to be here for Greg."

"Did something happen with Mycroft?" he asked, lowering his voice so Greg would not hear.

"Mycroft broke things off with him, he is going to university in Scotland and didn't want a long distance relationship. I can tell he's distraught about the whole thing…"

Jim frowned. "Clearly he's as bad as his brother."

"Oh, I wouldn't say Mycroft's _that_ bad…"

"Neither would I," came a voice from behind them.

John cringed. "I didn't realise you were standing there, Greg."

"Yeah well I'm blessed with good hearing," he replied sternly, but John could sense the smirk in his voice.

"Maybe you should pack in the History course and become a police officer instead" Jim joked.

"Maybe I will. And John, don't worry about me- I'm perfectly able to watch _Notting Hill_ alone."

"Perhaps Jim could watch it with us?"

Jim smiled. "I'd be good with that."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive."

John didn't take much persuading. Jim smiled. "I'll see you tonight, then?" He kissed John briefly, before grabbing his coat where it had fallen on the floor and leaving.

Greg gave John a knowing grin, but it could not disguise his sadness. "You've got a good one there, I can feel it."

"Me too."

As Greg went back into his room to get changed, John sighed. Mycroft had seemed so infatuated with Greg. To break it off so suddenly was horrendously out of character, that he couldn't help but think that their break up may have had some interference on Anthea's part. It was the kind of thing she would pride herself on having made happen.

He glanced up at the ceiling of the flat. He knew what he had to do.

* * *

><p>"Please let me in, Molly."<p>

"No."

"_Please_."

"Why should I?"

"For several reasons. 1- If I really wanted to, I could break this god damn door down. Not to blow my own trumpet or anything, but I wouldn't even break a sweat, so you leaning against it isn't really a deterrent. 2- The legitimacy of your argument lessens when you play childish games with me. 3- You're right and I've come to apologise."

There was a pause before the door opened a crack to reveal Molly looking sullenly over at him. "So?"

"You're right. About everything. I should have been there for you and Greg at the party, I was being a drama queen about nothing because Jim wasn't there and Sherlock was pissing me off."

"That's understandable, I suppose." She opened the door fully and John sat down on her bed. "That Sherlock bastard can really get irritating, no matter how intelligent or attractive he is."

John raised an eyebrow. "You've got the hots for Sherlock?"

Molly blushed. "Everyone does, John! Even you, if you weren't too stubborn to admit it."

John frowned. He didn't think Sherlock was attractive, he thought he was _stunning_, but he'd be damned if he told Molly that. "We're both taken, Molly."

"Yes, we are, aren't we?" She sat down. "It feels weird, saying that. I haven't had a boyfriend in a year and a half."

"Good weird?"

"Just weird."

John paused. He didn't know what the best course of action would be. "Well. I suppose it will, at first."

"… I know you don't approve, John," she said exasperatedly, "but give it a chance. For me?"

John rolled his eyes dramatically before breaking out in a grin. "Alright then, for you."

She pulled him into a tight hug. "Fancy some breakfast?"

"I thought you'd never ask." They found Harry in the kitchen of the flat, smiling absentmindedly to herself despite the obvious signs of her hangover. "Feeling better, sister?"

She winced. "God don't talk so loudly, or I will fucking end you." Sunglasses covered her eyes, but there was something in the way she stood that told John she was happy.

"What's with you?"

"Me?"

"You're all cheery. No offence, but you're usually a bitch the morning after."

She smirked. "Let's just say I made a new acquaintance just now."

"Ah. Say no more." John was used to Harry's many conquests. She made her way back into her bedroom, clutching a bowl of cereal.

* * *

><p>John felt Jim sink a little lower into his shoulder. "You're extremely comfortable, you know?"<p>

"Why thank you. I knew I gained all that weight for a reason."

"You're the perfect size, John."

Greg, who had fallen asleep thirty minutes in, was curled up in a chair across from them. The film was now reaching an end.

"I'm sorry about last night, by the way," Jim said suddenly.

"It's fine, you've already said sorry a million times!"

"I just feel bad, is all. I should have been there. I was just too cowardly to face Sherlock."

"Cowardly? No, Jim, he's a bastard, you not wanting to see him is perfectly understandable."

"You think so?" He paused. "I knew the evening could only go two ways. Either I would end up punching Sherlock or he would end up punching me. I didn't want to spoil your evening."

"That's very kind of you."

Jim picked up a kernel of popcorn from the bowl on John's lap, guiding it into his boyfriend's mouth. As soon as he had extracted the offered kernel, John tentatively licked Jim's fingers clean, causing the other boy to laugh.

"You have an overactive tongue, John."

"Do I?" John said, more seductively than he'd meant to before a blush graced his cheeks "God, I'm sorry for being so forward." He felt Jim's hand creep onto his thigh.

"Don't be," Jim growled into his chest.

Greg cleared his throat and the pair flinched. They hadn't realised that he had woken up. "I'm going to go to bed," he said with a wink, "I'll see you two tomorrow."

John blushed even deeper as Greg left, embarrassed by his smirking. In contrast, Jim let his hand crawl up John's chest, stroking him very gently before pushing him down onto the sofa. His back hit the material softly and John couldn't help but lick his lips at the sight of Jim above him.

"I think you can put that tongue to much better use," Jim purred.

"Now who's being forward?" John grinned in response before grabbing the neck of Jim's T-Shirt and pulling him down into a gentle kiss.

* * *

><p>John stretched languidly, breathing in the smell of the bed sheets. Still not opening his eyes, he revelled in the memory of the night before. After a while the sound of the shower in the next room stopped and Jim came back into the bedroom. John smiled. He could get used to seeing Jim in only a towel first thing in the morning. He was toned, more toned that John had imagined, with strong shoulders and a defined clavicle. "You're awake, then?"<p>

"Yes," John replied, his voice a little hoarse. "Almost too much with you standing there like that."

Jim laughed and leaned down to kiss him firmly, with an almost painful intensity. The chuckle spread through Jim's chest and into John's, reverberating around his core. "I'll bear that in mind." They stayed like this for several minutes before Jim eventually let John go. "As much as I love the smell of your sweat and knowing that _I_ caused it, you should shower. Then I need to go, I'm afraid."

"So soon?" John pouted.

"Yeah. A friend has just roped me into helping him move house. So much fun." Jim's voice was muffled slightly as he pulled his t-shirt over his head.

"You're too good."

"Yes, yes I am," he said with a devilish grin, buttoning up his jeans as he spoke. "And I'll be rewarded next time we go out. I'll text you."

He kissed John briefly before leaving, water from his hair still trickling down the nape of his neck. John reluctantly tore his eyes off Jim and obeyed his earlier command, forcing himself into the shower and losing himself in the thundering water. For the first time in months he felt… satisfied. He showered quickly and pulled on an old pair of jeans before he walked into the kitchen, to find Molly and Harry chatting happily.

"Having fun?"

"Your boyfriend is charming," Molly replied, passing him a plate. She had made pancakes. _Pancakes. _Dear God, was there no end to her charms?

"I know. Hands off, Harry."

Harry gave him a quick shove but still smiled. "I like him a lot."

"He's fantastic. But let's not get ahead of ourselves." John took a bite of his pancake, trying to suppress a laugh as he saw Molly and Harry exchange a knowing look.

* * *

><p>The next few weeks passed slowly, without much to comment on. Greg was slowly moving on from Mycroft, as painful as their breakup had been, but John could tell that affection was still lingering in his heart. As they say, absence makes the heart grow fonder. He half wished that Mycroft was still around, if only so Greg could "accidentally" spill something hot on him. John also found himself increasingly swamped with work, to the degree that he was seeing Jim less and less. Yes, he was great company and he <em>did <em>miss him, but not quite to the degree that he felt he should considering they were dating.

October slowly fell into November and November in turn gradually became December, until the streets around them were surrounded by Christmas decorations and window displays. The news channels had temporarily forgotten trivial issues in the Middle East to focus on the snow hitting London, with near constant footage of icy roads and "snowed in" houses with harrowing headlines such as "BRITAIN FROZEN" and "KILLER ICE INJURES TWELVE". John didn't believe the media hype whatsoever- the snow paled in comparison to the predicament he found himself in now.

"You want me to go to your boyfriend's dinner party?"

"Please?"

"No."

"Why?" Molly pleaded, tugging on his sleeve to stop him from leaving.

"Because!"

"Because what?"

"Because, as you well know, I hate the man."

Molly had long since gotten over this. "_Please_? I don't _know_ any of the people he's inviting, and I need someone to defend me from his flat mate…"

"Why? What's she like?"

Molly sighed. "Terrifying does not begin to describe it. Of course, she acted all nice to me because I'm Colin's girlfriend, but we were all in a restaurant together and she tore this poor waiter apart because her soup was cold. There was actual sobbing. I mean, _Jesus_."

John paused. "So you need me for moral support?"

"Yes!"

"… No."

Molly dropped to the floor and wrapped her limbs around his legs. "_**Please**_?"

John couldn't stop the laugh that escaped him. "Molly!"

"I'm not letting go until you say you'll come."

"This is childish, Molly."

"I _need_ you to come."

"Why?" He attempted to walk towards the door but found that Molly was hanging on too tightly.

"Because you're my best friend!"

John sighed. "Oh, alright then. You owe me one."

She squealed in delight, still clutching at his thighs. "Thank you! Seven o'clock tonight, OK?"

"Yeah, yeah," John grumbled, getting the sneaking suspicion that this maybe a very bad idea.


	9. Chapter 9

**I'm back! I'm sorry for the hiatus, I've had a lot of work and these chapters have been written _very_ slowly in my small amount of spare time. I'm currently neglecting my History prep to get it up! XD**

**Hopefully this extra long chapter will make up for it- THE DINNER PARTY OF REVELATIONS.**

**Thanks to Kim, my beta.**

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><p>John rapped hard on the glossy black door, clutching a bottle of wine in his free hand. Anderson hadn't been lying- it <em>was<em> a nice neighbourhood. John hadn't even heard of Rosings Park until Anderson had mentioned the place, but it turned out to be a quiet little patch of nature in central London. Anderson's house was opposite- small for a Victorian house, but very classy. The snowfall made it look like a Christmas card, gently drifting down in front of the Christmas wreath that hung on the door.

The door was opened almost immediately by Molly, who took the wine from him with a smile. "Come in! We've only got one more to come now."

The inside was pleasant if cold- it was all glass and metal, sleekly designed, but didn't really feel like a home. Anderson was in the kitchen chopping up vegetables and grinned when he entered. "Ah, John! Glad you could make it."

"Nice place you've got here," John replied, in an effort to make conversation.

"It is, isn't it?" A smug smirk was plastered on his face. "Of course, I share it with my flatmate Sally, but I enjoy living with others. You haven't seen the house, have you? That's a shame. Fancy a tour?"

John felt like the appropriate thing to do was to say yes, but Anderson did not wait for a response. "Well, this is obviously the kitchen/living area- I do so love open plan design. It feels more sociable, don't you think?"

"Yeah."

Anderson took them into a dining area. "This is where we'll be eating tonight."

The ceilings were high, compensating for the spectacular table dominating the centre of the room, however John's eye was caught by one particular corner, where a magnificent grand piano stood. All classic, clean lines to go with the minimalist feel of the rest of the house. It looked daunting yet seemed to call out to be touched. "It's a beautiful instrument," said John, as he ran his fingers over the smooth, dark ebony wood. It was obviously well looked after. It felt like satin to touch and had an almost mirror like sheen to it.

"Yes. I don't play it myself unfortunately, but it's nice to have around. You enjoy music, don't you, John?"

"Yes, I do."

"Ah. Of course. Now, let me show you the best part." He led them up the narrow stairs and out a set of glass doors. John had to admit, the view was breathtaking. They were on a balcony, overlooking the park. He could see a frozen pond at its centre, untouched by humans, and the deep woodland that surrounding it was covered with a blanket of snow. In the distance, Canary Wharf was visible, a shining citadel of modern architecture.

"It's beautiful," John sighed with a slight dreamy tint.

Anderson grinned smugly "I know. Sometimes Molly and I just sit out here for hours, simply taking it all in. It's all very romantic. I defy you to find a more romantic spot in any other part of London." Something in the way that Anderson spoke seemed to say '_look at what you could have had'_, and John did not appreciate it.

"Ah, so this is the famous John?"

John turned around at the sound of his name to see an elegantly dressed black woman, her hair beautifully styled and a wide smile on her face. "Sally Donovan," she extended a hand, "Hi."

John shook it. "John, John Watson."

"Pleased to meet you." She seemed friendly enough, but there was something shark like and predatory about her smile, like she was about to devour him. "So you live in the same house as Molly?"

"Yeah, she lives with my sister, and I live on the floor below."

"Oh! How nice. How many people live in your house?"

"Six- two on each floor."

"Ah! How cosy, I love it." There was the sound of a doorbell. "That'll be Sherlock," she said smoothly, walking towards the stairs.

John's jaw dropped, and he glared at Molly. "Sherlock?"

She avoided his gaze guiltily. "Er…"

"I will kill you," he hissed.

Sally returned with Sherlock on her arm, who seemed genuinely taken aback at John's presence. "Sherlock, this is John Watson. John, this is Sherlock Holmes."

"We've met," John muttered, shaking Sherlock's hand reluctantly.

"Oh!" Sally smiled. "That's great- saves the awkward introductions, eh? Let's all grab a pre-dinner drink, I've been gasping all day."

They walked awkwardly downstairs, Molly shooting him the occasional apologetic look which he returned with scorn.

Sally grabbed some drinks from the fridge, which she handed out. Molly returned to preparing the food in the kitchen whilst the others sat down in the living room.

Sally positioned herself next to Sherlock, very close to him. "So John, how do you know Sherlock?"

"His brother dated my flatmate for a time."

The atmosphere grew even more awkward. "Ah. I see. I'm guessing it didn't end well?"

"Not particularly, no."

Another awkward silence fell. John took a sip of his drink. "How do you two know each other?"

Sally laughed and slapped Sherlock's thigh, leaving her hand to linger. "Our parents are very good friends. We went to the same primary school. Of course, Sherlock went off to Harrow and I went to Roedean, but we always met up in the holidays."

Of course. John didn't know why he hadn't realised before- both brought up in a little private school bubble of reality, where they all called each other by their last names and wore ridiculous school uniforms. "Sounds lovely," he lied, "to remain such close friends with someone you've known all your life."

"Well, you and Greg are still friends," Sherlock spoke for the first time since he arrived.

"Yeah, but we've always gone to the same schools, we've never really been apart. You too must be very good… friends," the lengthy pause made Sherlock flush, and Sally's smile faltered slightly.

"Yes. The closest of friends." John saw Sally's hand brush suggestively against his thigh, but Sherlock tensed and shifted away from her touch, yet his eyes remained locked on John.

Anderson re-entered the room, oblivious of the tension. "Sally decorated the whole house. Exquisite, isn't it?"

He grimaced. "Yes, of course. You have wonderful taste."

Sally's laugh was rich and throaty. "I'm very interested in modern design, I've never been one for cosy homes." John frowned inwardly at the contradiction to her earlier statement, but said nothing. "Some of the squalor the others in my class live in- positively squats! And they call it _eclectic_, can you imagine?" her eyes widened dramatically to show just how horrified she truly was at mere suggestion.

John grimaced again at the thought of his own bedroom whilst Sally continued. "Of course, Sherlock is just the worst. I don't know how he can live like that! I've offered to redesign the whole place, but he won't listen, will you Sherlock?"

Sherlock ignored her words. "We didn't really say hello earlier," he said to John, "… hello."

John wasn't sure why Sherlock tried to make conversation, there was an awkwardness in his voice that could have nothing to do with him enjoying John's company. "Hello." he replied warily.

Sally gave a slight frown. She stuck her arm out. "Colin, be a dear and fetch me a drink."

Anderson gave her a sickly sweet smile. "Of course."

Once he had left, she chuckled. "Isn't he sweet? And Molly too? A little rough around the edges, perhaps, but I'm sure I could sharpen her up. Always so obliging…"

"A little too much so."

"Oh, I don't know about that. She'll make Colin a good little wife."

"She's capable of far more," John said abruptly.

A pause, before Molly herself stuck her head around the door. "It's ready!"

And not a moment too soon. They wordlessly travelled into the dining room, no-one acknowledging the deep routed tension. John seated himself next to Molly and Anderson, who he somehow found less irritating than Sherlock and Sally, as hard as that was to admit.

Dinner started well, with pleasant and inoffensive small talk that John listened patiently to. Anderson regaled them with tales from his days at school, and Sally raved about how she and Sherlock used to put on little plays when they were children.

"And Sherlock demanded that he got to play the princess!" she laughed. "Isn't that funny?"

Sherlock flushed. "I was six at the time, Sally."

"Well, thank god you didn't keep cross dressing- lord knows what your mother would have thought!"

John restrained himself from rolling his eyes.

"You were quite the little actor, though. Maybe you should have gone into the stage."

"It's not my natural environment. I prefer things with a little more grit."

"Oh, come now. You enjoy the arts, whether you pretend to or not. You play that damn violin of yours incessantly."

"It is a beautiful instrument," Molly added, the first time she'd spoken for a good while, and Sherlock gave her a brief smile.

"I hear you play the guitar, John," Sally asked, as Anderson took away his empty desert plate.

She smiled widely, but there was a forced quality to it, it didn't stretch to her eyes. "I shall have to hear you play some time." John thought he detected a hint of amusement in her tone. "Tell me- do you have any brothers or sisters?"

"A younger sister. She lives with us in the house."

"Ah! It must get grating living with the same people after a while, especially one you've spent your whole life with!"

John smiled fondly for thinking of Harry. "I love Harry to pieces. We fight sometimes, but I can never stay mad at her."

"What does she study?"

John felt as if this dinner had become an interrogation. It was as if Sally was gaining as much information as possible in order to judge him. "Drama."

"Aha. Perhaps Sherlock should transfer and spend more time with her?"

"It's a good course, apparently," John said lightly.

"I'm sure. Sherlock's always been more academically focused, though…"

John took a bite of his food. "Oh, Harry gets good grades, she just never pays attention. She's always done well, and because I work hard I keep up with her."

"Oh." Sally looked a little taken aback. "That's good. Were you both privately educated, John?"

"No. We went to the local comprehensive with our friend Greg."

"Ah, I see. You had a tutor, then?"

"No."

"Oh!" She barely concealed a smirk. "How interesting. You hear such stories about the schools in London, I'm glad you didn't slip through the system."

John felt a flash of anger, suddenly defensive. "Our school was good. It was very supportive."

"I'm sure."

Another awkward, yet familiar quiet spread throughout the group as they ate in silence for a few more moments, before Anderson spoke. "So Sherlock, I hear you have a younger sister yourself?"

Sherlock seemed to liven up. "Yes, Georgiana. She's a wonderful girl, everyone says so."

John was surprised at just how enthusiastic he seemed. "She certainly seems it from what you've said."

Sherlock's head snapped round towards John "You remembered," Sherlock replied, for once seeming genuine, the corners of his lips lifting minutely. "I'm glad. I'd love for you to meet her."

"I'd like that," he replied, though not forgetting what Jim had said about the girl. He had decided not to judge her until he'd met her himself, if that indeed ever happened.

Sally's eyes darted between them and she frowned. "How about we all have a drink on the balcony?"

"That sounds lovely," said Molly. "I'll just clean up."

"Molly," John said kindly, patting her arm. "You've done too much tonight. Let me do it."

Sally, Anderson and Molly chatted as they walked upstairs, and John began to load the plates into Sally's dishwasher. It was only when he turned around to collect the last few, that he realised Sherlock was still there.

"God" he exhaled "I didn't see you there."

"I'm sorry John," he said, taking a step forward. "Here, let me help."

"I'm fine, honestly."

"Please, I may as well."

John nodded, somewhat stunned at the pleasantries. "Thank you."

They began to load the plates together, neither saying a word until John finally spoke. "Sally seems nice."

"You're not as good a liar as you think you are, John," Sherlock replied, slightly amused.

"Well, alright," John was flustered, "I was just trying to be nice."

"No, no, that's not a bad thing." Sherlock seemed embarrassed. "Forget it."

Again there was silence, except for the clink of the dishes and pans as they hit the metal.

"I've told Georgiana a lot about you."

"Oh?"

"All good things, I assure you."

John laughed. "Now I know you're lying."

"I'm really not," Sherlock said softly. "I think she wants to play a duet with you."

John could not suppress a smile this time. From the way Sherlock was describing her, she was nothing like Jim had said, but then again he would be biased. "From what you've said I doubt I could keep up."

"You're very skilled on the guitar, John. You mustn't put yourself down."

John grabbed the final lot of plates and pushed them down forcefully. "Flatterer. Are you trying to mess with my head?"

Sherlock shut the machine. "No! I doubt I could if I tried, to be quite honest…"

John found himself inexplicably drawn to the man. "Is this an attempt to make up for that terrible first impression, then?"

Sherlock, for the first time, seemed genuinely vulnerable. "Unlike some, I don't easily integrate myself with new people. I never seem to be able to judge the situation…"

"Yeah, well maybe a bit of practice wouldn't inconvenience you too much," John snapped rather harshly, but regretted his decision immediately and sighed. "Sorry. I didn't mean that quite as badly as it sounded."

"Don't be." Sherlock was an awful lot closer to him than John remembered, quite imposing this close up. John himself was jammed with his back against the worktops.

"I," he found himself flushed, "I'm not great with people I don't know either."

"We're more similar than you think." Sherlock's voice was a low murmur, and he moved a hand gently to the work top next to John. He was trapped by Sherlock's body, except it didn't feel like an aggressive movement. Quite to the contrary, in fact, its presence, radiating heat, was most welcome.

John regained his senses. "Excuse me, I really ought to get back to the others." He brushed briefly past Sherlock in his haste to extricate himself, cursing inwardly for whatever it was that had made him react in this way. It had to be the booze. It had to be.

Sherlock did not follow him up the stairs, which was a blessing, and John met Molly on the landing. "Having fun?" she asked.

"No," he admitted. "You owe me."

"Was Sherlock down there with you?" Molly's voice was teasing.

"Yes… Why?"

"Oh, no reason… He just seems very fond of you, is all…"

John snorted at the idea. "Oh, please. I'm _pedestrian_, remember?"

Molly sighed. "Oh well. The others are out on the balcony, if you want them."

John restrained himself from making a particularly sarcastic comment and walked out onto the balcony, admiring the still falling snow.

"Did Sherlock help you?" Sally asked rather sharply.

"Yes," John replied curtly, "it was very… kind of him."

"Have a nice chat?" She seemed aloof, but John could sense the edge in her tone.

"He told me a bit more about his sister. She seems very talented."

Sally visibly relaxed. "Yes, she is. We're very close, I'm like her sister."

"Does she give you much trouble?" John asked, intrigued as to whether Jim's accusations were true. "I mean, a teenager must be hard work…"

"Oh no, she's a darling." Sally sipped her wine. "No-one has a bad word to say for her, she's wonderful. Anthea loves her too, and she's a hard woman to win around- oh, of course, have you met Anthea?"

"Yes," John said, recalling the unpleasant woman. "A friend of Mycroft's. Sherlock seems very close with his family."

"Oh yes, he is. He's deeply protective; recently, for example, he stopped his brother from dating a deeply unsuitable guy."

John's blood ran cold. "Oh? What was his name?"

"I can't remember. All I know is that he was very different to Mycroft, and not that keen on him in the first place."

Sally had clearly forgotten everything John had told her about Greg, or not listened at all. "Who was he to judge that?"

"Believe me, John, he didn't sound very special. What was the word Sherlock used? Ah- _pedestrian_, that was it. He's not missing out."

John found himself overcome with anger. ""Excuse me. I'm feeling a little unwell."

"Oh really?" said Sally, not sounding concerned in the slightest. "Colin, get John a glass of water."

Anderson seemed only too eager to obey Sally, but John shook his head. "I don't think it would do much good. I think I may go home, if that's alright with you."

"If you feel that's necessary, then of course."

"Thank you for inviting me. Sally, Colin." He left as quickly as possible, meeting Molly half way up the stairs.

Molly seemed delighted. "Hey John! I've just been chatting to Sherlock, and he seemed a bit flustered." She caught his expression. "What's wrong?"

"I'll explain later, I promise you, but I have to go home. I'll talk to you when you get back, OK?" He kissed her on the cheek. "Have a nice evening."

"... OK?" she replied as John hurtled downstairs, grabbing his coat from the hook on the door. He made his way onto the street, snow was still falling as he struggled in his attempt to put on his coat in a fit of rage.

How could he have been so blind as to think that Sherlock had not been involved in the breakup of Greg and Mycroft? How could he have been so stupid?

And to think, he had found himself attracted to Sherlock. He never would have acted on it, of course, but he cursed his own weak will anyway.

"John!"

He froze in the snow, seething. He knew that smooth baritone.

"Leave me alone, Sherlock," he spat, as calmly as he could muster. John heard the crunch of Sherlock's footsteps on the new snow as he moved closer. "I mean it, will you just-"

He stopped as Sherlock grabbed his shoulder and span him around, gripping hard even once John was facing him. "I _can't_, John. I just can't."

"What? Why?"

"Because."

"Because?"

"Because I think I might love you!"

Now _that_ John had not been expecting. "Don't mock me, Sherlock." He turned and began to walk away again.

Sherlock blocked his path once more, placing a hand against his chest. "I mean it, John." He grasped the material and pulled John closer to him, and John's head subconsciously tilted up to meet him. Sherlock's kiss was just like the man- a strong, almost violent attack on the mouth. John came to his senses at last and pushed Sherlock off him, making the taller man stumble.

There was silence. "You're... You actually mean this, don't you?" John's astonishment was beyond expression. He felt the heat rise in his face as he stared back at Sherlock.

Sherlock bit his lip, as though thinking. "Love was an unwise word to use. I have after all only just met you. But I've- I've never felt this degree of infatuation towards any human being before, especially not for someone so..."

Up until that point, John could not help but feel flattered. Sherlock was, in the eyes of many, a catch. He could not deny that he was attractive. "So?"

"Well, you know," Sherlock replied as if it were a normal comment to make whilst declaring your love, "you're so..."

"So?"

"Ordinary."

John felt his shock return to anger again. "Oh."

Sherlock had not picked up on his tone. "It's been agony. These feelings you inspire in me, I'm not used to them. All this tenderness, all this _nervousness_... I cut all of them out, a long time ago, and I don't want to feel like this... But I can't. My emotions will not be repressed."

John would not, could not speak.

"And for the one who makes me feel so ardently to be someone so utterly unsuitable... I mean, you're of average intelligence, your friends are irritating, your sister is out of control-"

"You will leave my sister out of this, do you understand me?" John hissed.

Sherlock looked surprised. "What?"

"Leave Harry out of this."

"I'm sorry if I spoke without thinking, but it's only because when I'm around you..." he struggled to describe it, "I cannot control myself. Please, John," he almost whispered his name. "I need you more than I could ever say."

Again he attempted to kiss John, but this time he pushed Sherlock back. Sherlock gaped. "John?"

John laughed bitterly, glaring at the man before him. "You _say_ that you're nervous, you _pretend_ to ask me about this, but in reality you just assumed I'd want you back, didn't you?"

Sherlock looked for the first time confused. "I-"

"Usually in this scenario, you're supposed to thank the person, however repulsive you may find them. And if I could feel any form of gratitude, I would do exactly that, but I can't. I never wanted you to like me, Sherlock, at least not after our first night out. I am sorry that I've caused you such agony, believe me I did not intend to. But I hope that all the reasons you have just listed mean that you can get over me easily."

Sherlock visibly paled, even in the cold of the snow. "John, I didn't mean it like that!"

"Oh please. Even you are not so emotionally stunted that you don't realize how insulting what you've said is."

Sherlock was angry now. "It took a lot for me to say that, John, you could have at least attempted to react kindly."

"Perhaps you shouldn't have listed my faults in your twisted attempt at seduction. Maybe that works with some people, but it doesn't with me. I have every right to react angrily. But that's hardly my only reason."

Sherlock frowned. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"Don't pretend not to know!" John could barely feel the cold anymore, such was his anger. "Greg, Sherlock. Greg and Mycroft. How could I possibly want someone who ruined, perhaps forever, the life of my best friend?"

Sherlock reddened. "Do not be overly dramatic. I have ruined no-one's life."

"You don't deny breaking them up, then? Destroying the relationship of a couple who adored each other, maybe even _loved_ each other, and leaving them both miserable?"

Sherlock paused, seemingly in an effort to regain his control. "I do not deny it. I allowed Mycroft to escape the fate I have now chosen."

John laughed harshly. "And that, _that_ would be enough, but I have other reasons, you know I do!"

"What do you mean?"

"You know perfectly well what I mean."

"Say it then!"

"Jim! How can you excuse what you've done to him?"

The effect on Sherlock was immediate- suddenly Sherlock was aggressive, almost frightening for John to behold, but he stood his ground.

"Why," Sherlock started, almost unable to speak, "Why does Jim matter?"

"I care about him. Deeply."

"So- You've- You've been together. _Together_."

"My God, what are you, 12?"

"Answer the question, damn it!"

John held Sherlock's gaze. "Yes."

To his surprise, Sherlock looked for a moment distraught, but quickly regained his ice cold sneer. "I just thought you had more taste."

"How can you be so callous after what you did?"

"Oh, after what _I_ did? _I'm_ the bad guy here?" His words dripped with contempt.

"You took away his future, his life! Now he's working in a bar, when he could be so much more! And yet you can mock him and ridicule him like that's nothing!"

Sherlock stepped closer again, his face very close to John. "So this is your opinion of me. Thank you for explaining my many faults in such detail, it must be a weight off your mind. But maybe these would have been excusable if I hadn't highlighted your own."

"Oh, piss off Sherlock." He began to walk away but stopped at Sherlock's laughter.

"Go ahead, run away, just like you always do!"

He swiveled on his foot. "Excuse me?"

"All you ever do is run, John. You never face the problem, you just put it aside. That's what you did with Molly and it's what you're doing now."

"Alright then, fine! Go ahead, say what you like!"

"I do! I was honest with you in admitting your flaws, flaws that even you know are there. You're one of those people who needs people to like you, and guess what? It isn't going to happen! Maybe if I'd flattered you beyond all reason we'd be in a much different scenario, but I'm not ashamed of my honesty! Do you expect me to find your ordinariness somehow attractive or endearing? For me to be _pleased _that you are not special in any way?"

John's anger grew and grew but he attempted to remain calm. "Flattery would have gotten you nowhere, although you have kindly spared me any sense of guilt. Thank you for that. There's no way I could have ever accepted you."

Sherlock's expression was a mixture of incredulity and embarrassment as John continued. "Ever since the first time I met you, I have found you _unbearable_. You are cold, heartless and cruel, and most of all you are unspeakably arrogant. Before a week had passed I knew that you were the last man on earth I could ever, _ever_ love."

Sherlock stepped forward and grabbed John's collar, as if he wanted to hit him. John made himself stand his ground, and resisted flinching. But Sherlock's hand did not form a fist, and instead the pair's eyes were locked. Sherlock was so close to him that John felt his heavy breath against his face.

Finally, Sherlock spoke. "I understand." His voice was low, a rumble in his chest. "I'm sorry. I won't bother you again."

Sherlock walked away in the opposite direction, leaving John alone in the street. He made sure he was out of sight before gripping hard to the railing next to him. Christ, he felt weak kneed. It took a few moments for him to realize he was crying.

"You are a stupid, _stupid_ child, John Watson. And you deserved that."

He walked off into the snow, thinking. The whole evening had been bizarre. Sherlock _wanted_ him... That was insane to even contemplate. But he couldn't let himself dwell on the information; he had to remember what Sherlock had done to Greg and to Jim. His confliction was quickly resolved by the memories. He continued his hurried thoughts as he hailed down a cab, and returned to his flat to wait for Molly.


End file.
